


To Love A Murderer (seriously. title undecided. borrowed this so that people would click on it) SkatingOnEggshells's Story

by SkatingOnEggshells



Series: This Story [title undecided] [1]
Category: SkatingOnEggshells's Story
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, SkatingOnEggshells's Story - Freeform, Title Undecided, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29209602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkatingOnEggshells/pseuds/SkatingOnEggshells
Summary: Hazael and Ross are themselves in this VERY VERY VERY rough draft. Just wanted to post it here for a bit of feedback <3
Relationships: HazaelxRoss, KatrincixMillie, RuairiBeingTheAceIconHeIs
Series: This Story [title undecided] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144610





	To Love A Murderer (seriously. title undecided. borrowed this so that people would click on it) SkatingOnEggshells's Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee).



> please leave a comment down below with feedback! It would mean the world.

PROLOGUE:

Historians will call them best friends. They’re wrong. Because Hazael Beatus and Rosa Maria Sanchez were never friends. Enemies, first and foremost. Anyone could tell you that. Did they grow to be more than enemies? Yes. But best friends? Historians and their homophobic tendencies are wrong in this aspect. Before we start their story, you will need to know a few things about the world they live in. Firstly, the year is 2123 on Earth. Almost 100 years before, the first astronauts had left for greener pastures, on a planet fifty years away. 50 years ago, those astronauts arrived. They found a previously unknown metal, Martium. Martium was able to do three key things: Power spaceships to make the 50-year-journey in six months, create effortless connections between planets light years apart, and in its liquid form was the perfect material to make spaceships out of.  
This discovery made the path to intergalactic space travel possible for anyone with enough money.  
Effective immediately, almost everyone with enough money left. They all went to “the Martium Planet,” the planet which could sustain life.  
Fifty-three years after the original spaceship left, all communication with the Martium Planet disappeared. Nobody on Earth knew what had happened, so space was assumed to be a deathbed.  
The world’s richest, most powerful, and all of the world leaders had left for the Martium planet, so the world operated differently now. First of all, nobody used non-renewable natural resources anymore. The people of Earth officially had nowhere left to go, and so were hell-bent on preserving their planet. Secondly, with all the people in power gone, international borders had become… Fuzzy. In a word, each continent was now split into somewhere between five and one hundred seventeen countries, each with their own ruling system. What used to be North America was now the Federation of Progress, the Republic of Conservation, the Farmlands, Olde California, Quebec, the United Canadian Frontier, The Islands, The Land That Is Rightfully Mexico’s, The State of Acapulco, The Southern Isles, and Manugua to the Canal. Thirdly, basically the only international law that existed was that no matter where someone commits a crime, they must be brought back to their home country to face the punishments.  
Of course, there were other advancements and changes, mostly in technology and worldview, but you will discover those along the way.

CHAPTER 1: Hazael’s Profession.  
The newest kid to come in was named Joe Brown. According to his I.D., he had turned sixteen yesterday, and the first thing that he had decided to do was come and see her. Presumably to die. His cornrows were fresh, his shirt old. He looked haunted, as if he had nothing else to give to the world.  
“So… Are you going to kill me?”  
“Only if you want me to.”  
“Well, obviously I want you to. I’m here, aren’t I?”  
“That you are.”  
“What’s holding you back? Why not shoot me as soon as I walked in?”  
“Joe, you must be extremely stupid if you think I like killing people. If you think that I run this business for shits and giggles.”  
“Then why do you do it, if you don’t like killing?”  
“I’m helping you, everyone.” Hazael looked up from polishing her knives. “Why all the questions?”  
“I’m about to die, and I want to die knowing at least some of the answers.”  
“Fair enough. Well, I have some questions for you.”  
Joe nodded.  
“Why do you want to die?”  
“I dunno, man.”  
“No, Joe. You came here for a reason. Why?”  
“I hate myself, duh.”  
“Your first answer was better. Why, really?”  
“I want to hurt my mom.” Joe twisted one of his cornrows in his hand. “My dad died when I was seven.” Hazael made a noise of pity. “It’s fine. It’s been nine years. It broke my mom. She stopped going to work, stopped bringing me to school, and stopped leaving bed. Eventually, she started to forget me. She said that she never had any children. She called me an imposter. She said that her child had been aborted. I was born when she was fifteen. She probably wanted to abort me. I stopped going to school when I was fourteen so I could work three part time jobs. Then, one day, last week, I came home to her beaten on the floor. I found out that ‘her dead baby’ was her grandfather’s baby. Not my dad’s. And that’s why she had aborted it and not told her boyfriend. But she told her grandfather, whom I’ve never met. He had her brother beat her up.  
So, my mom was raped by her grandfather, I was born, my dad, who I guess isn’t my dad, died, she started slowly falling apart, and then she went crazy and told my grandfather who is sort of my dad, who had my--uncle? And also grandson--? Beat her up. Which is why I want to die.”  
Hazael blinked, then put her knife down. “So, you want to die so your mom gets even worse?”  
“Well… I guess. I just want to hurt her. Like she hurt me.”  
“Listen, Joe. Hurting your mom won’t accomplish anything.”  
“Anything?”  
“No. And even if you get some kind of reaction out of her, you won’t be alive to see it.”  
“I guess you’re right…”  
“Well, it sounds like she needs serious help. Is she going to therapy?”  
“I don’t have money like that, lady. I work four jobs and that pays the bills.”  
“I have money, and you can pay me back once you’re working a six-figure job.”  
“Where the fuck would I find a six-figure job?”  
“When you were seven, before your mom ruined your future, what did you want to be when you grew up?”  
“A doctor. So I could help people.”  
“Congratulations. You will become a doctor.”  
“How?”  
“First, go back to school. I’ll help out with your bills, if you can cover the other stuff. You should be able to manage with one or two jobs. Then, you’ll work really hard and you’ll get a scholarship. You’ll get a pre-med degree and then you’ll go to medical school. Add another ten through twenty years, and you can pay me back in full. No interest required.”  
“How much money do you have? Do you run a drug operation or something?”  
“No. Why do you always assume the worst?”  
“You kill people.”  
“I help people. When the only thing I can do to help someone is kill them, then that’s what I do. And I run my store, plus I play the stock market. I’m also very good at poker.”  
“So you just find random people’s education?”  
Hazael smiled. “Finally, you get it. Now, go out there and apply for school!”  
“Thanks, lady.”  
“Oh, wait--here’s some cash to get you started.” Hazael handed him a pack of hundred dollar bills. She guessed it would be enough for him to quit one of his jobs for the week.  
Joe smiled. “Thank you so much.”  
“Good luck!”

CHAPTER 2: Rosa-Maria and Electa  
“Do you see him?” Rosa-Maria watched her sister walk with confidence down the busiest street in the busiest city in The State of Acapulco.  
“Not yet. You?”  
Rosa-Maria watched from her sniper’s camera, always recording what was happening. “I already told you, he’s literally at the doorstep of this church. If you weren’t using all of those useless counter surveillance techniques, we would already have him!”  
“I don’t see him there.”  
“How do you not see him? My gun’s trained on him, he hasn’t moved an inch!”  
“Talk quieter, Panther.”  
“Yes, my dearest Dancer.”  
“Oh! I see him! He’s the creepy-looking one in the trench coat, right?”  
“What does he look like?”  
“Latinx, holding--is that a gun? Waving at me--”  
“THAT’S ME, DUMBASS!”  
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I see him. He’s the one with all the fancy medals, right?”  
“Fake medals. But yes.”  
“One of the crown princes to the Acapulcon throne. Theodore Ruffield.”  
“His father is an outsider, an usurper. He will give up the throne if his sons are murdered. Then their cousin, Prince Acosta, will bring peace to the land.”  
“Right. I’ll lead him over to you.”  
Electa sauntered over to the prince, and offered to take him inside. He agreed, and followed her, insisting his bodyguards stay outside.  
“Right where I want him.”  
“We’ll make it quick.”  
Electa kissed the prince fast, and Rosa-Maria visibly recoiled. Slowly, she walked around the back of the church, and let herself in the back way. Electa and Prince Theodore were really going at it. Suddenly, Electa pulled away from the prince and Rosa-Maria shot him point-blank with her silent gun. It made no sound, and neither did Prince Theodore. Electa poured the bleach in her back pocket over him, and both walked away from the crime scene, as though it had never happened.  
“You never let me have any fun!”  
“He’s a tyrannical warlord, Electa.”  
“But… You didn’t even let me get the part where I got to show him my dick!”  
“Because I didn’t fucking want to see my sister’s dick.”  
“Good point.”  
“Wanna get pizza before we kill the other brother?”  
“Sure, Rosa-Maria.”  
“Why do you call me that? It’s Ross.”  
“To annoy you. I thought that was obvious.”  
“Rosa-Maria is impractically long. Like my hair was. It’s Ross. Like my hair.”  
“My dead name was impractically long, too, but I couldn’t change that because Mama didn’t understand that I was a girl.”  
“I am lucky.”  
“Yeah, dumbass. Pizza?”  
“Yeah, yeah.”

CHAPTER 3: Hardly anyone wants to die.  
Hazael smirked. Her old bully, Jayanne, was sitting in front of her. Jayanne was what more colorful people than Hazael called “a racist-ass bitch.” For almost all of Hazael’s high school career, Jayanne had constantly berated her for being black, her dad leaving when she was seven, and most of all, for her name.  
Hazael is a Hebrew name, the name of a king, and which means “the one who decides.” More than that, it was a name traditionally given to boys. Jayanne knew this and milked it for everything it gave her. Ironic that it was Jayanne finally at Hazael’s mercy. It would be so easy to kill her now. But she needed to give Jayanne a chance, no matter how horrible she was.  
“Hello, Jayanne.”  
“H-h-hi.” Seemingly for the first time, Hazael noticed the streaked mascara, the dirty nose, the hollowness of her eyes.  
“Are you okay?” Hazael hated herself for being sympathetic to Jayanne, of all people, but it wasn’t something she could control.  
“No, otherwise why would I be here? In the attic of your little failing store, surrounded by weapons?” Jayanne was back.  
“For the record, business is great.”  
“You mean killing people?”  
“I don’t kill people. I help them.”  
“Ah, Hazael. Always the saint. ‘Helping people.’ Is that what we call giving high school drop-outs large sums of money?”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Joe. He probably spent it on drugs.”  
Hazael put her head in her hands. “That’s racist, Jayanne. I helped Joe because he needed it. He promised me. That means something to some people, Jayanne.”  
“Ha! Promises. Only those who are clingy need something to hold them back.”  
“Why are you here, Jayanne?”  
“For you to kill me, obviously.”  
“What?”  
“You kill people, don’t you?”  
“Again, I help people. Why do you want to die?”  
“Because I fucking hate myself and I know you’ll want to do it. You do want to do it, don’t you?”  
“No, I don’t. I’m not a murderer, Jayanne, and I don’t know what you’re trying to get me to confess.”  
“How about I call you the n-word? Will that make you want to kill me?” A sharp intake of breath came from Jayanne’s shirt.  
“Are you wearing a mic, Jayanne?” Hazael stepped forward, knife in hand.  
“Code red! She has a knife to my neck! Send in the troops!”  
It all happened at once. Hazael heard the front door to her shop kicked open, she dropped her knife and put her hands up, seven police officers burst into the attic, pointed their guns at her.  
“Hazael Beatus, you are being arrested as a criminal. As a Federation of Progress citizen, you should prepare to die within the week.”  
A single tear fell from Jayanne’s left eye. Hazael didn’t notice.

CHAPTER 4: The other brother  
Thompson Ruffield mourned his brother’s death by partying. Unfortunately for him, he happened to invite two sisters who were more than happy to sell their gold-threaded invitations to Ross and Electa.  
“Now, for the night, we are Emmaline and Ariadne Samos. We are socialites who are in favor with King Marquine.”  
“Gotcha.”  
“Do we need to go over the plan again?”  
“Nope!”  
“Great.”  
Taking a deep breath, Ross held Electa’s hand and walked in. Her red cocktail dress made her uncomfortable, and she stumbled in her platform heels. Electa, on the other hand, let her low-cut electric blue dress do the talking, as roughly everyone in the room stared at them. Electa grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing waiter’s tray, and handed one to Ross.  
“Don’t drink these, they might be poisoned.” Electa whispered, as she smiled at one man who was staring at her rather aggressively.  
“Got it.” Ross attempted to smile at a different man, but he frowned and turned on his heels at hers.  
“How are you so good at this?”  
“Have you never seen me in action before?”  
“Well, of course I have, but through my sniper. Not so… Low.”  
“It’s okay. Just follow my lead, and when I tell you, go into that room. I’ll lead the prince in, and you shoot him. Just like his brother. Easy.”  
Then, Ross and Electa saw Prince Thompson. He was sitting in the middle of the room, holding a picture of his brother up for everyone to see. His eyes were puffy and his nose was runny. He looked like he’d been crying for hours. He was not the in-denial partier the Sanchez sisters had been hoping for, but he would do.  
Electa pinched Ross’ hand, and Ross went to one of the rooms leading off from the main room. Luckily, it was empty and had an actual door, so hopefully nobody would see the prince’s body when it fell.  
Ross turned her comms on, and heard, to her dismay, Prince Thompson still crying. The good news was that it sounded like Electa was about three feet away from him, but it didn’t sound like his crying would stop any time.  
“Are your comms on?” Electa was whispering. She must be closer than Ross thought.  
“Yes.”  
“Good. I’m going to seduce his bodyguards. He has twice as many as his brother had.”  
“Probably because we killed his brother yesterday?”  
“Oh. Yeah. I’ll take them to the room where you are, and you’ll kill them, then I’ll get the prince.”  
“This is a horrible plan. How many guards are there, exactly?”  
“Sixteen.”  
“WHAT?”  
“I was able to get past eight yesterday, and my record for seducing is eighteen. Piece of cake.”  
“I don’t even have the words to tell you how bad of a plan this is.”  
“Good. Then don’t tell me.”  
Electa walked up to the guards, and smiled at them. “Follow me, boys. I have a… Special place in mind.”  
“As a group?”  
“Sure. All of you.”  
“But-- Prince Thompson--”  
“Choose. Him or me?”  
“You?”  
“Correct. Now follow me. All of you.”  
Amazingly, it sounded like it worked. Ross got in position. The door opened, and all nineteen people streamed in. They hadn’t seen Ross yet. But Ross saw them. Electa slipped out, her shimmery dress taking all the light from the room.  
“What’s going on?” A guard asked.  
Silently, Ross began firing. Five guards down, then ten, then fifteen--one of them drew a gun, and Ross shot him in the hand before his head. His dying breath got to be in pain for trying to pull a gun on her. Eighteen guards down. Easy. Too easy. Ross, suddenly worried for Electa, turned on her comms.  
A voice that had just been crying yelled, loud enough that Ross didn’t need her comms. “ROSA-MARIA SANCHEZ! WE HAVE YOUR SISTER! COME OUT, OR SHE WILL BE KILLED. AND LEAVE YOUR STUPID SILENT GUN IN THE ROOM!”  
How long had they been tracked? She didn’t want to know. Slowly, she dropped her gun, and walked out of the room with her hands up. Electa was being held at gunpoint by an additional twenty guards. Prince Thompson grinned at Ross.  
“Sanchez siblings, you are being arrested as criminals. As Federation of Progress citizens, prepare for your execution within the week. Also, for attempting to kill a political figure and for already killing one, only one of you can live. The other must be executed. Guards? Bring these cretins to their home country.”

CHAPTER 5: The Federation of Progress

The Federation of Progress was the most powerful country in North America, and possibly the world. It encompassed what used to be the Northeast and Midwest regions of the United States, and what used to be Ontario in Canada. It had the biggest fresh water supply in the world, and rationed it out to everyone else. If you wanted more water than you were allotted, you had to pay tens of thousands of dollars. It also included several of the most powerful cities in the world, like Shaundence, Oseby, Yrerton, Ahaw, Wiinawaa, and Onthull.  
However, what the Federation of Progress was most famous for was its infamous crime policy. Every time ten criminals were gathered (anywhere from two to ten days), for anything from running a drug operation to speeding, they were all put together in two rooms. The ‘death room’ and the ‘life room.’ Everyone starts in the life room, and those who decide to die go into the death room, and the remaining people in the life room have to convince the others to die so they can live. There can only be two people who survive. If that’s taking too long for the moderators interest, they give one of the criminals knives to hopefully wipe out more of them. However, if all the people in the life room vote for one person to go to the death room, then that person has to die.  
If you go to the death room, it will begin filling with poisonous gasses. You will start choking, retching, and throwing up. Then it will stop, and you think that you’ve been spared. Then the gas will start melting your flesh. Your skin will go first, then your tongue, then your throat, then your innards, and then you will be dead.  
If you are a survivor in the life room, you must watch those in the death room die.  
Everyone who lives in the Federation of Progress is well aware of these rules, and yet, every two to ten days, they manage to bring ten criminals to the life and death rooms. Only two walk out.  
The Federation of Progress has seen a record drop in crime the last ten years this method has been implemented. Mostly because if you so much as sped when an Enforcer was watching, you got to die.

CHAPTER 6: The cell  
Hazael’s cell was a stark, grey thing that whispered of a sterility so clean Hazael could not possibly challenge. In one corner, a mirror. Hazael watched her body grow thinner and thinner in the three weeks she lived in the cell. Consuming just the right amount of calories had that effect on people. Backed against one wall, there was a bunk bed. Next to the bed was a hygiene station. These were old tech, along with the beds and the mirror. The prison hadn’t been updated in twenty years. The mirror was made of non-reusable reflective plastic, which would have gotten Hazael a healthy sum at the market if it wasn’t fastened to the wall with every type of fastener known to mankind. The bunk beds were unrealistic, as almost every prisoner nowadays was in solitary confinement in the three to four weeks before they died. Or survived. Hazael assumed she would die. The hygiene station was the oldest of the lot. It was a small metal tube you stepped in, and you pressed a button and the waste fluids would be sucked out of you, metal hands would wash you, and you were dressed in the appropriate undergarments. Even those were old tech; nanocorsets hadn’t been in fashion for almost three decades.  
On Hazael’s twenty-second day in the cell, a human guard knocked on the door. For the past twenty-one days, a transporter had delivered her crumbs of food to her. Hazael got to her feet as the guard opened the door, hand on his beamer.  
“Hazael Beatus. You are being escorted to your death.”  
“Now? Already?”  
“You’ve had more than enough time.” The guard, whose face Hazael couldn’t see beneath his visor, handcuffed her hands behind her back, and her ankles together. He dragged her onto a crude dolley, and pushed her along. Hazael looked around her, determined to see as much of the world as she could, even before death.  
The halls were constructed of the same sterile material that was in Hazael’s cell. Every ten or so feet, there would be a solar powered light, and every twenty there was a cell door. Hazael couldn’t see inside, but she could hear. Several prisoners were pacing back and forth, one or two were screaming, and one, in a child’s voice, no more than five or six, was pleading to be let go.  
Then, Hazael’s guard stopped. He went and opened the cell door next to the child’s; of a person who made no sound. Hazael heard the “you are being escorted to your death,” but didn’t catch the name. The person was still silent. The guard unlocked the door, and opened it on a woman who was short. That was Hazael’s first impression of her. Her hair was white and barely longer than a crew cut. The woman glared at the guard, who bound her hands and ankles. Still, she was silent. She was dragged out of the doorway, and was being lifted up--  
“Are you going to put her on top of me?”  
“Why not? I have to bring all of you down, if I put both of you on here it makes it that much faster.”  
“This is an inhumane treatment of prisoners!” The guard heaved the new woman onto Hazael, and she ran out of words.  
“You’re about to die, what do you care about?”  
At that moment, Hazael decided that she needed to live. Not just to help more people, but to prove this man wrong and fix the prison system.  
The top of the short woman’s head barely came up to Hazael’s collarbone, but she could still feel the tension in the other’s muscles.. The trio rounded the corner, and they were faced with a warehouse-sized room, divided in half by a plexiglass-like material. One one wall, the room that they had just been wheeled into, a sign said “Life.” On the other, a sign said “Death.” There was a lockable door that was propped open between the two.  
The guard shoved the white haired woman off Hazael and then pushed Hazael off herself. He left through the door that they had came through, whistling and pushing the dolley. Hazael heard the lock click.

CHAPTER 7: Life or Death  
Ross’ ankles were bound. That would be a problem. Handcuffs? Easy. Ross had done it twice before, she could do it again. But the ankles being cuffed meant that she couldn’t walk anywhere. She couldn’t run away if this person who she was with decided to kill her. Ross needed to kill everyone else so they had no choice but to let Electa and her live; it was the only way to survive.  
“So, what’s your name?” Ross was turned away from the person, but she knew that they were probably looking at her.  
“Ross.”  
“So you can talk. How wonderful.”  
Ross whirled around, holding her handcuffs in her right hand. “And I can kill you right now, but I am choosing not to. Same as I chose not to talk to the person who brought me to what will probably be my death whistling.”  
“Oooh, so you think you’ll survive.”  
“I never said that. I was just hoping the rest of you would choose death and I’d be on my way.”  
The person smiled, and Ross noticed that their front tooth was chipped. “And I suppose you want to know my name?”  
“No. I am content with knowing as little as I can about the person who I will either watch die or who will watch me die.”  
“My name’s Hazael. Like Hazel, but Hah-ZAY-el.”  
“Is that how you remember how to say your name?”  
“No, it’s how you’ll remember my name for decades to come. The name of the person you let die.”  
“Again, Hazael, I could just kill you now, with these. I’d be happy to.” Ross held her handcuffs in an offensive position, the sharp part pointing at Hazael’s heart.  
“Turn around for a sec.”  
“Why? So you can kill me?”  
“No, I mean turn around for one second. I can’t kill you in one second.”  
“Fine. But only because you’re weak.” Ross turned around, brandishing even more aggressively, when she felt her ankles unstiffen. She turned around, and there was Hazael, holding all three pairs of handcuffs that Ross wasn’t holding. “When did you learn how to do that?”  
“By watching you. Duh. You figured out the lock system for the handcuffs, I copied it, modified it slightly, got out of the ankle cuffs, perfected it on the third try by the time I got to yours.”  
“Who are you?”  
“The same could be asked of you.”  
“No, what kind of dumbass brags about doing something like that? There are at least fifty pairs of eyes watching us right now, and you just gave them ammunition!”  
“Oh. Right. Well, Ross, you did bust out of your cuffs right in front of a security drone.”  
“I didn’t see any security drones.”  
“How long have you been out of the Federation of Progress? You look extremely tan for an Asian-FOP-an.”  
“I’m half Latina, dumbass. And I’ve been in The State of Acapulco for the past three years.”  
“Three years, and technology has moved on without you. The new security drones are the width of a single hair, and can record video, audio, temperature, humidity, and are metal-detecting. You broke out of your cuffs in front of one of them.”  
Ross grimaced, and started to look around for security drones. Just then, the door opened, and Electa and an old woman came through on a dolley.

CHAPTER 8: The Doomed Ten  
“Electa!” Ross ran towards the dolley, as a woman who looked about Hazael’s age came in, laying upon a woman who was at least eighty years old. Ross grabbed the one Hazael’s age--Electa, Hazael guessed, and took her off the dolley. Electa immediately fell.  
“Oh, sorry, I forgot your ankles were still bound.”  
“How did you undo them? I’ve got my hands undone, but I can’t figure it out.”  
“Hazael over there--she’s the one with the afro--”  
“Ross, there is one person in here who I don’t know, hi Hazael, I’m Electa, did you think I wouldn’t know that from context clues? Do you think I have no perception?”  
“Well no, obviously you think you’re bloody brilliant, but Hazael has a name and you wouldn’t know her name--”  
The old woman cleared her throat, and Hazael noticed for the first time that she had bruises all over her, and a thin cut beneath your eye. Hazael walked over, and offered her a hand off the dolley.  
“Are you alright?”  
“Why? Think an old woman can’t handle this?”  
“No, it’s just--your bruises.”  
“Oh, those. That horrible guard puts up a good fight.”  
“You--you fought him?”  
“Indeed I did.”  
“Wow.”  
“Well, anyway, I’m choosing death.”  
“You’re choosing to walk through the Door of Death? Where the poison will kill you instantly?”  
“Indeed I am.”  
“What’s your name?”  
“You can call me J. That J can be for anything you want.”  
“I’ll call you Jackie.”  
“Jackie Robinson? Jackie Kennedy? Jackie Culpepper? I’ll take it.” Slowly, Jackie started waddling towards the door. Hazael ran forward and undid her ankle cuffs. She got them on the first try. “Thank you, Hazael.”  
With the grace of a swan taking flight, Jackie ran, as fast as she could (which was faster then Hazael had ever ran) towards the Door of Death. She slowed, walking through, then walked through another door, with an air lock that squeaked. Then, one green nosebleed later, she was dead, lying on the ground. Hazael stuck her fingernails into her palms, where they brought blood to old scars.  
Several feet away, Electa and Ross were hugging. Hazael walked over to the door, avoiding looking through the window.  
“Where’d that lady go?” Electa appeared next to Hazael, her long, shimmery blue hair touching Hazael’s arm.  
“She… Decided to go.”  
“Oh. I liked her. Are you alright? You were talking to her.” Electa put her hand on  
Hazael’s shoulder, and Hazael flinched away. “I’m sorry.”  
Electa walked back over to Ross, and the three of them, through an eerie silence, turned and stared at the door, waiting for whatever horrors would come out of it next. They waited several long moments, Hazael’s nails digging into her palms, Ross running a hand through her hair compulsively, and Electa standing still.  
Then, finally, two more came in. A girl with long, purple hair, and --Bo Michaels?  
Bo Michaels was Hazael’s brother Mekhi’s favorite basketball player, for the Oseby Lions. Mekhi idolized him; his wall was filled with posters, his most prized possession was a ball Michaels had signed, and he had eight Bo Michaels jerseys.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“Me?” The girl with long hair asked.  
“No, Bo. Michaels.”  
“Oh,” The girl sighed.  
“Are you a fan?”  
“I know someone who is.”  
Bo shook his head, then frowned. “You know what? You’re probably going to die, I can tell you. I committed security fraud and obstruction of justice. I lied to the Enforcers about my taxes. So I get to die.”  
“You could live--”  
“No. I’m choosing death.” With that, Bo Michaels, the famed NBA star, waddled over to the Death side of the room. Hazael decided not to undo his ankle cuffs.  
The purple haired girl--who was no older than 16--sighed and followed him. “Why are you choosing death?”  
“Did you know it’s a crime for seventeen-year-olds to smoke plyton?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well, I didn’t. And my friends got to go free if they turned me in. So they went free. And I’d prefer to die than live in a world where I knew my friends didn’t care if I died.”  
“That sucks.”  
“I know, right? Peace out. If one of you live, could you tell Janney Lawerence, Airy Thompson, Jinx Lyrian, and Bay Lin that Ariadne says ‘fuck you’ and that they’re responsible for my death?”  
Hazael ran over and undid Ariadne’s ankle cuffs. She seemed miserable enough without falling on her face. “Sure.”  
“Yeah.” Ross grimaced. “Is there any way I can stop you?”  
“What?”  
“Well, it’s just… I don’t want anyone to die.”  
“Jackie’s already dead, and Bo’s almost there.”  
“I know, Hazael, but she’s… A kid. She’s my brother’s age. You’re sixteen, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I… I just don’t want anyone to die.”  
“Well, I’m gonna die, and I don’t fucking need your permission.” With that, Ariadne walked over to the Door of Death. Nobody stopped her. On her way, she tripped Bo. He fell. She took the distraction to run through the Door of Death and the airtight door. She hadn’t gotten two steps before she fell, right next to Jackie.  
“Electa?” Ross was staring at the woman she had embraced, worry clouding her eyes. “You’re surprised.”  
“A girl Ash’s age just died, and I did nothing.”  
Ross bit her lip. “You didn’t agree to tell Ariadne’s friends to fuck off, either.”  
Electa stared at the ground, still stoic. “You heard what that guy said. Only one of us will survive.”  
“Well, yeah, but he was bluffing. State of Acapulco officials have no say in Federation of Progress prison dealings.” Ross’ voice trembled.  
Suddenly, a disembodied voice interrupted Ross. “Actually, you were about to assassinate a foreign leader. And you already had assassinated another. Federation of Progress Law #367778 says that out of any group of prisoners who meddle in foreign affairs, all except one must die. You’re lucky; if there was only one of you you would automatically have to die. Electa Sanchez’s sacrifice is most honorable. She will live in your memory.”  
“Electa, you’re not going to sacrifice yourself! Don’t be stupid!” She turned around, but Electa wasn’t there. In fact, she was halfway to the Door of Death before Ross caught up.  
CHAPTER 9: Electa.  
“Electa. You can’t die alone.”  
“Sister. It clearly said that one of us has to survive. That’s you. Tell Clea and Ash what happened. Mourn me at home, but don’t let anyone else know how I died. There are still corrupt people in the world, and you need to kill them.”  
“I will always love you, and miss you.”  
“I’m going to join Mom, Dad, and Kala now.”  
“Do you think they will accept you?”  
“Yes. At least Mother will. And probably Kala, though I can’t be certain. Dad can be persuaded in eternity.”  
“And when I join you, I will help.”  
They were almost at the door. Ross hugged Electa as hard as she could, then pulled away before she broke down. She had to be strong.  
“Goodbye, ‘Lecta.”  
“See you, Rosa-Maria.”  
Electa walked through the door of death, and fell. Ross tried not to cry, but felt a howl building up inside her. She collapsed to the ground, wailing her soul out in a blubbery mess. She contorted and writhed, nothing but pain. Screaming and yelling, pounding her fists on the cold, concrete floor, she felt that she was imploding, staring with her heart.  
CHAPTER 10: Death  
“To live is to suffer.”  
“Excuse me?” Hazael turned around from the wall, trying not to stare at Ross. A black man who looked about 30 years old had tapped her on the shoulder. His fade looked new, and his brown eyes seemed pitiful.  
“Everyone suffers. But that’s just a price of living.”  
“Her girlfriend or sister or friend or whatever just died to save her. I think she’s entitled to some suffering.”  
“Do you know her?”  
“Not much.”  
“I’m Eli. Eli Stockdon.” Eli tipped an imaginary hat.  
“Huh. I’m Hazael Beatus.”  
“One of us is going to die.”  
“Aren’t you a charmer.”  
“My wife’s pregnant with our second son, so I’d prefer to live.”  
“Are you going to kill me or something?”  
“No. I’m just stating my case for whenever the crying lady chooses.”  
“Chooses? Ross, choosing something? Now?”  
“The guard told Nori and I about it.” Eli pointed behind him, to a college-aged blond guy.  
“Told you about what?”  
“Ross--he called her Rosa-Maria--has to survive. Something about international law. Therefore, she will be choosing which one of us to survive with.”  
“Ah. I was not aware of that.”  
Suddenly, the intercom crackled. “You’re taking too long. Rosa-Maria, choose, or we will.” Ross cried louder. Hazael turned away. “I thought you would say that. Therefore, to speed things up, I have given Nori knives.”  
Nori, the blond guy, was right behind Hazael. She could hear him literally breathing down her neck. Slowly, she turned around, the dagger on her spine cutting across to her stomach. Eli stood behind Nori, seeming increasingly panicked. Hazael saw Ross sit up, now-silent tears running down her cheeks.  
“Hello, Nori. I’m Hazael.”  
“I want to live.”  
“I assumed that, from the dagger on my stomach. You really do want to give me a painful death.”  
“Well, I could sever your spine, if you’d prefer that.”  
“No, no. I prefer this. Very American Civil War-chic.”  
Eli walked forward, and grabbed Nori’s wrist. “Nori, let her go. Let Ross decide. Please.”  
In response, Nori drove the dagger a fraction of an inch into Hazael. A drop of blood hit the ground.  
Eli punched Nori. He plunged the dagger in his left hand down to the hilt in Hazael’s stomach. His other dagger, he stabbed Eli in the eye.  
Eli screamed, Ross screamed, and Hazael calmly took a step back, knowing that her only chance of survival was if she kept the blade in.  
“Stupid Eli.” Nori pulled the dagger, with the eye still on it, out. “Fists will never win against knives.”  
Eli clutched his eye socket, trying to stop the blood. Nori stepped backward, then lunged forward, slicing a clean line across Eli’s neck, and then, before he could fall, plunging the dagger into Eli’s heart.  
The floor seemed to sway beneath Hazael’s feet. Her hands gripped the hilt of the dagger, determined not to let go. Through a haze, she saw a pile of blood accumulating at her feet. Then, slowly, her hands let go. She sat down, the sound of bees buzzing drowning out everything else.

CHAPTER 11: Ross  
Hazael sat down, immersed in a pool of her own blood. Nori was advancing on her, probably about to finish her off. Somewhere in the distance, the door opened again, and a little boy and a short redhead came in.  
Ross knew what she had to do.  
She forced all thoughts of Electa from her head, and ran over to Eli’s body. Hesitating, wondering if she should put on gloves, then remembering that she didn’t have any, she reached into him. The dagger had been thrown in with much more force than necessary. The hilt alone was past Eli’s now-shattered rib cage. The first three inches of the dagger pointed out of his back. Ross plunged both hands in, pulling the dagger out with all of her might. She pulled and pulled, hoping beyond hope that Nori hadn’t killed Ross. Finally, it came out, throwing her backwards.  
The redhead and Nori were in a fistfight of sorts, the redhead sweeping his leg out from under him every time he tried to stand. The little boy was about to pull the dagger out of Hazael’s stomach--  
“WAIT!”  
Everything stopped. Nori stayed down. The redhead stood stoic. The boy froze. Hazael’s head fell to one side.  
“I’m the survivor. I get to choose who lives and who dies. 5 have already died, which is more than enough. If you take that dagger out of Hazael, she will die immediately. That dagger is the only thing keeping most of the blood in. She better be alive when I choose who dies, or else I’ll kill you all with this.” Ross took out Eli’s dagger from behind her back, still dripping with blood. “Excellent. Now, everyone, say why you want to live.”  
“I will.” The boy raised his hand. “Well, I want to live because I’m 7.”  
Ross stared him down. He didn’t move. “Wonderful. Who’s next?”  
“Me!” Nori was jumping up and down. “I’m in college!”  
“So…?”  
“I’m about to become an asset to society.”  
“That’s not a good enough reason for me not to kill you, Nori. You killed one person and tried to kill another.”  
“Um… I have a family.”  
“We all have families.”  
“I deserve to live!”  
“Why? That’s literally the entire reason we’re here.”  
“Um…”  
“Good. Redheaded person?”  
“Sam. My name is Sam. That’s the first time and the last name I’ll ever use my true name.” Sam ran over to the Door of Death. They jumped into the poisonous gas, and died with a smile on their face.  
“I lied!” The kid wiped away tears. “I don’t want to live. Not if everyone else has to die. I don’t want to live anyway! My parents will ‘lectrocute me again! They made me come here so I would die!”  
Hazael stood up, her usually hickory colored skin a shade of caramel. “What’s your name?”  
“Akash.”  
“Well, Akash, you don’t need to die so that your parents will hurt. There are always other options. Suicide is never the answer. I would take you in, any relatives, any friends, heck, even social services--”  
Akash took the knife from Ross, and, in her surprise, she let him take it. He stabbed himself through the heart with just enough force, and he closed his eyes, like he was sleeping. Then, with all his remaining strength, he took it back out.  
Then, Akash, the six year old, fell.  
“I’m sorry, Akash. I should have been able to help you.” Hazael leaned over, grimacing at the dagger still embedded.  
“You couldn’t do anything. But you can now. Hazael, why should I let you live?”  
“So I can help more people. I Help people. Out of 2,487 patients who have wanted me to kill them in these past two years, 2,485 of them I’ve helped find another way. I fund their educations, give them places to stay, get them away from abusive parents, help them with friendship problems. I’m basically a social worker they trust.”  
“The two you killed?”  
“I’m not fucking telling you about that.”  
“But not in cold blood, I presume.”  
“No. They convinced me.”  
“Alright, Nori, I’ve decided you should die.”  
“I’m not going through that door.”  
Hazael staggered forward, then pulled the dagger from her stomach with a scream. “Here, finish him off.”  
“Hazael!”  
“Now.”  
Ross walked forward towards Nori. “Please, please don’t kill me. Don’t. My father’s rich--I can get you anything you want.”  
“I don’t accept briberies.” Nori turned tail and ran. Ross tackled him, and stabbed him at the spinal cord, from his tailbone to the top of his skull. Before she knew it, she was soaked in Nori’s blood. She screamed as she lunged the dagger in to the hilt between each vertebrae, screamed as she watched the life pour out of him in shades of red.  
Finally, when she was sure he was gone, she stepped back. “HAZAEL AND I ARE THE SURVIVORS!”  
The intercom crackled. “Well done. You’ll be provided with a needle and thread.”  
“...What?”  
“Hazael. She’s dying as we speak. You need to sew the wound shut.”  
The door opened, and the guard dropped a needle and thread just on the other side. Ross ran over and picked it up, and then ran to Hazael.  
“I--I can’t sew with my hand.” Ross raised her right hand, shabbily built out of scrappy metals.  
“Then use your other one.”  
Ross bent down over Hazael, and quickly threaded the needle. “This is going to hurt.” Hazael didn’t respond. Ross sewed neat stitches, having to redo some areas over with the thin string, an inch of the three-inch wound taking a full minute. Ross held the rest of Hazael’s skin together, hoping to stop the bleeding.  
Finally, several minutes later, Ross finished. Then, she wiped the dagger off on her right arm, switched hands, and cut off a four-square-inch sized chunk of skin from her left arm. The blood came out hard and fast, and Ross held it over Hazael’s mouth, hoping they were the same blood type.  
When Ross started feeling lightheaded herself, she sewed her own arm shut, messily and crookedly, as she was using her machine hand. Then, she fell unconscious.  
CHAPTER 12: Out With The Old.  
“Hazael Beatus. Good. You’re awake.”  
“Where am I?”  
“Federation of Progress Prison #39’s Medical Ward. You were stabbed, took the dagger out, and was sewn up by a fellow prisoner.”  
“I was?”  
“You lost 45% of your blood. 50 years ago, you would have been dead. But, thanks to modern technology, you’re not.”  
“Who are you?”  
“Nurse Podmokoly.”  
“Wait, who saved me?”  
“Rosa-Maria.”  
“Ross.”  
“She hasn’t woken up yet.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Rosa-Maria--”  
“Ross.”  
“Ross gave you a litre and a half of her own blood. It was how you survived, in addition to her stitching you up.”  
“Wow.”  
“I wish you could stay here longer--”  
“Wait, what?”  
Nurse Podmokoly exhaled, her dark brown eyes aimed at the ceiling. “As a trained medical professional, my job is to keep you alive. However, it’s in the Federation of Progress’ best interest if you die. Therefore, I am patriotically and legally obligated to bring you to your apartment as soon as you awake.”  
“Oh, okay. Most people don’t like to be in my company at all.”  
“Why, Miss Sanchez?” The Nurse wielded Hazael’s bed with her microchip, pushing it through the door.  
“I reek of death.”  
“I see. Aren’t you a Helper?”  
“I try to be.”  
“And yet you reek of death.”  
“People have a tendency to die near me.”  
“Oh dear.”  
“Why all the questions, Nurse Podmokoly?”  
“Just want to get to know my patient better.” Nurse Podmokoly pressed a button, and both of them shot up on a wall less, cableless elevator. Hazael was silent, wondering why she’d trusted the unknown figure as long as she had. The transporter stopped at the thirty-second floor. Slower this time, Nurse Podmokoly maneuvered Hazael and herself out. She opened the door labeled “3251.” She mentally pushed Hazael through, and then locked the door behind her.  
Hazael sat up, taking in her new apartment. There was a kitchen area with an oven, stove, fridge, sink, and lots of cabinets A weird sight, since almost everyone bought all their own food and water, but not unheard of in older homes.There was one bedroom, and one bathroom. Hazael was still in the hospital bed, and she didn’t have the microchip upgrade to control it, so she couldn’t see what was in either one. The common space directly in front of her was big for such a small apartment, and featured a plasmatic television, which hadn’t been used since people could synch microchips. There was a futon, and two circle-shaped chairs. There was a Mirka-brand table; All Mirka products could be controlled by microchips, and not just by special installation.  
Slowly, Hazael pushed herself out of the bed, and immediately fell. She punched the wall, and her fist went through. Plaster. Plaster hadn’t been used in almost 70 years. “What is this place?” Hazael used the new hole to propel herself across the wall, into the kitchen.  
Opening upper cabinets while leaning on the countertop, she found food. Eggs, rotted beyond recognition. Bread, only days beyond the expiration date. Peaches, not yet ripe. Thirty-six pink plates, two red bowls. What might have been a flower. Crackers. Soup cans. Nutrition pills, with an expiration date in the 23rd century. Pots and pans, tools she didn’t know.  
Hazael lumbered over to the fridge, and, to her surprise, found a fully frosted chocolate cake that didn’t seem too old. She put it on the counter, and slowly ate one slice at a time, until she had eaten two slices the width of her nails.  
Then, the door opened.  
CHAPTER 13: Ross  
Ross walked into her apartment, brandishing her keys like weapons. A timid nurse followed behind her, still wincing at Ross’ kick to their shins. Standing in the doorway, Ross smiled.  
“This place will do nicely.”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
“You may go now, Nurse Hodkins.”  
“Rosa-Maria? May I speak?”  
“That’s Ms. Sanchez to you, Nurse.”  
“Well, Ms. Sanchez, At eight a.m. tomorrow Common Time you and your roommate will get fitted with the prison microchip update.”  
“Thank you, Nurse Hodkins. You are dismissed.” Ross’ eyes glinted copper as the nurse’s reflection scurried away. Ross shut the door behind her, locking it manually. Yet another slight inconvenience that would be remedied by the microchip update.  
Ross turned around, and yelled. “ROOMMATE. I KNOW NOT WHO YOU ARE, BUT I TRUST YOU WILL COME OUT. I WILL BE HAPPY TO SLIT YOUR THROAT.”  
Ross leaned against the door, and noticed a hole had been punched in the wall. She reached into the hole and found the plasmatip that all buildings were constructed of. Not bothering to muffle the noise, she chipped off a piece that was roughly the size of her old dagger. Not as sharp; nothing was as sharp as her dagger, but it would be better than her keys.  
Slowly, Ross rounded the first wall. She found herself an arm’s length away from Hazael, who was calmly eating a third tiny slice of chocolate cake.  
“You’re my roommate?”  
Hazael met Ross’ eyes, a lilt that Ross hadn’t previously noticed to her voice. “You didn’t know? Survivors always room together. The hope is that one kills the other.”  
“You better hope that you kill me first.” Ross spun around, and walked towards the bedroom door. She opened the door, and found a hallway. On each side, there was a door. The one on the left featured an electronic sign reading “Rosa-Maria.” Ross pushed through this door with her shoulder.  
Inside her room, a desk, a small, uncomfortable-looking chair, an ebookshelf, and a bed. Finally alone in the silent minimalism of her room, Ross ripped off her bandage. “Idiotic nurse,” Ross muttered. The stitches on her shoulder were messy, and made with too thick of a string. Ross tore the messy lines out with her teeth, and was glad to find herself bleeding again. The nurse’s stitches were quite horrible. Gritting her teeth at what she had to do, Ross stumbled back to the kitchen, blood staining the plasmatip floor.  
“Back so soon? To apologize, perhaps?” Hazael was eating her eighth slice of cake. She glanced up through her eyelashes, finally seeing Ross. “You’re bleeding.”  
“I saved your life.” Ross felt dizzy for the second time in 24 hours, which she was sure wasn’t a good thing.  
“You did do that. I’m not sure why, to be honest.”  
Ross glared, her hand now on her shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding. “I don’t like dying. And I’m about to die, so unless you help me, you better get ready to handle having a corpse in your kitchen.”  
“Right. What should I do?”  
“Find three forks, a lighter and pliers. The apartments here are infamous for having random crap inside them.”  
“Got it.” Hazael searched through the cabinets, while Ross dragged the uncomfortable stool out of her room.  
“I have two and a half real forks, and one plastic one.”  
“Break the plastic one off at the neck. For the others, light the necks of fire with the lighter. Use the pliers to break them at the neck.” Hazael did the job, much too slow for Ross’ taste. “That took too long, but whatever. Now, do you know the proper technique that plastic surgeons use for leaving minimal scarring when repairing openings?”  
“No.”  
“How wonderful. Since you don’t even know what I’m talking about, I’m just going to have you do the normal technique.”  
“... What’s the normal technique?”  
“You stabbing me with the forks to stop me from bleeding, of course.”  
Hazael glanced at Ross, probably to see if she was kidding. “What?”  
Ross groaned, and ran a hand through her too-long hair. “You take the two ends of the wound. You push them together, like folded paper.” Ross shrugged. “I’m not quite sure what that is, but that’s how my mom explained it. Then, you stab with a fork at each end of the crease, and make sure the prongs go out the other side. Then, if there’s space in the middle, do the same with the plastic fork.”  
“So I’m supposed to stab you--a task that is getting easier and easier with every moment, mind you--with a metaphor using a natural resource that’s only in museums nowadays as instructions?”  
“Yep.”  
Hazael sighed, and then walked over, fork remnants in hand. “This seems stupid.” Hazael pulled Ross’ hand away from her shoulder, and blood started cascading down her arm. Hazael pulled the sides of the wound together, until they stood about half an inch high and the blood had stopped. “This is going to hurt.”  
“I realize that.”  
“Why can’t I just sew it?”  
“How long has it been since you’ve sewn anything?”  
“Six years.”  
“Exactly. Now stab.”  
“Here goes nothing.” Forcing her eyes to stay open, Hazael plunged the steel fork into Ross’ shoulder. Ross barely flinched. Hazael stabbed the other end, and then used the plastic to cover the area in the middle the steel forks had neglected.  
Hazael stepped back, and noticed Ross’ face was white. “Are you okay?”  
Ross turned away. “Yes. I’m perfectly fine. Always have been, always will be.”  
“No, I mean… Electa, right? Was she your girlfriend or sister or something.”  
“Electa is--was--my sister.”  
“Oh. I’m sorry. Losing your family can be hard.”  
Ross glared at Hazael, but it wasn’t solid. Her gaze fixated both on Hazael and something far, far in front of her. Or, possibly, behind her. “What do you know?” A snarl, almost. “Two-thirds of your family isn’t dead.”  
“I don’t have a family.”  
Ross raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care.”  
“Do you care about anything, Ross? Other than your own neck?”  
“I care about a great many things, and none of them remotely involve you.” Ross stood up, and then, holding her shoulder, sat back down.  
“Then why did you save me?” Hazael offered a piece of cake on a platter. Ross took it. “Ross?”  
“Everyone else was dead. If you died, too, I would be alone for the year.”  
“Year?”  
“We have to spend a year in this apartment, this prison. There’s a warehouse on the ground floor that sells whatever we need. We have to get jobs to buy stuff. Nutrition pills are free. There are daily briefings for Survivors, at eight. Tomorrow, at our first one, they’ll upgrade our microchips from the solitary confinement version.”  
“This isn’t right.”  
“What isn’t right?”  
“You shouldn’t either have to die or be in prison for speeding.”  
Ross laughed, a cold and unforgiving sound. “Speeding is the least of what I’ve done, Hazael.”  
“What, exactly, have you done?”  
“Why do you want to know? It’s not like you’ve said anything about yourself.”  
“True. My crime is helping people. Most people come to me to kill them, but I help them find ways to avoid that.”  
“That’s not a crime.”  
“I killed two people once, and everybody knew. An old foe brought in an Enforcer to prove it and pretended I was about to kill her.”  
“Oh. Electa and I killed forty-seven people.”  
CHAPTER 14: Hazael  
“The two of you killed… Forty-seven people?”  
“Do you believe me incapable of murder?” Despite her shoulder, Ross smiled. The bruises on her face faded slightly, but her hands were still permanently stained red.  
“No. I believe you.”  
Ross sighed. “You’re afraid of me. I get it. We were assassins, killing all those who caused evil. Ones who caused millions to suffer, and were responsible for at least that many deaths. We prevented millions of deaths, needless suffering. It wasn’t enough.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I’m done talking about this.” Ross stood up, kicked the stool away, and staggered back to her room. Hazael stood at the counter, slowly eating her sixteenth piece of cake.  
“Ross?” Ross turned around, almost to her door, leaning on the wall. “Why did you dye your hair?”  
“I was born with white hair.”  
“Er, sorry, I’ve just never seen anyone with white hair before--”  
“I’m joking.” A hint of a smile played across Ross’ lips. “Electa and I got plastic surgery and dyed our hair once we killed our first corrupt dictator.”  
“Oh.” Hazael smiled. “So, I guess I’ll never know what you really look like.”  
“Actually, I have one picture saved on my microchip. The solitary confinement update doesn’t let us synch our microchips, though.”  
“There’s a plasmatic television over in the common area.”  
“Really? Those haven’t been used in--well, I’m not really sure.”  
“Thirty-one years.”  
“Do you know how to use one?”  
“Well, yeah.”  
“It seems you’re more useful than I originally thought.”  
“You’re literally an assassin.”  
“You help people. I could never do that. I exist only to destroy.” Ross, still gripping the wall, managed to get back into the kitchen. Hazael offered her arm, but Ross scoffed. “I saw your wall hole. You can barely stand without leaning on the counter. Don’t bother trying to help me.”  
“I can walk!” Hazael pushed herself off the counter, and immediately fell to her knees.  
“See? You’re worse off than me.”  
Propping herself up on the counter, Hazael wiped the blood off her knees. “Maybe.”  
“You’re bleeding. Again. Did you not lose enough blood already?”  
Hazael smiled, and pushed off from the counter with all of her strength. She landed at Ross’ feet, then slowly crawled along the floor to the couch.  
Ross sighed. “Apparently not.” She inched along the wall, careful to evenly distribute her weight. Finally, she joined Hazael on the futon, out of breath. “I regret to inform you that I have forgotten what being injured is like.”  
“Why do you talk that way?”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Like, super-formally.”  
“I do believe that that is none of your business.”  
“So that’s the way it is.” Hazael smiled.  
“Indeed.” Ross almost managed a smile back.  
Assertively, Hazael yelled. “PLASMATIC TELEVISION, VOICE ACTIVATE, NEW MASTER.” Ross winced, and buried her head in her hands.  
“Voice recognized as Hazael Beatus. Confirm masterization?”  
“Confirm.”  
“What can I do for you today?” The plasmatic screen lit up, and a voice bar shimmered.  
“Upload one file from a guest.”  
“Why can’t I be a master?”  
“If you don’t know how to turn on a plasmatic television, you don’t get to be in charge of it.”  
Ross muttered something under her breath. “Please state the File Identification Number of the item you wish to upload.”  
Ross’ eyes turned an electronic blue, the way everyone’s did when they were accessing their microchip databases. “File Number 7263167526725263. One image, taken in Crowlington, Federation of Progress. Date: January 11th, 2111.” Ross stopped glowing, but looked hollow.  
“Uploading Image: File Number 7263167526725263. File uploaded by Rosa-Maria Sanchez.” The voice box disappeared, and the screen was alive with colors. A little girl, in a pink dress with a huge bow, stood drinking water out of a hose. Another kid, with short hair, just barely blurred out, jumping through the arc of water. What looked to be a pregnant woman, who shared the same square jawline and nose as the girl. A toddler waddled around in the background.  
Ross pointed to the girl. “That’s me.”  
“You look… Different. Happier.”  
“That’s because I was.”  
“How old were you?”  
“Seven years and forty-two days.”  
“That’s very specific.”  
Ross shrugged. “While we’re here, why not watch a movie or something?”  
Hazael stared at Ross. “I haven’t watched a movie in years.”  
Ross grinned. “This’ll be fun.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Plasmatic Television?”  
“Please, address me as Allen.”  
“Alright. Allen, please play ‘the Scary Movie With Zombies and Jump Scares.’”  
“Wait. Allen, what genre is this movie?”  
“Master Hazael, the Scary Movie With Zombies and Jump Scares is a horror film.”  
“You’re making me watch a horror movie?”  
“Master Hazael, I don’t have to play the movie--”  
“Thank you, Allen, but I was talking to Ross.”  
“We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to.”  
“No, it’s fine. I’m sure I can make it through one horror movie.”  
Ross grinned and clasped her hands together, leaning back against the cheap backrest. “Then let the fun begin.”  
The movie started with a man dying. He was stabbed through the heart again and again and again, by a masked figure. His blood poured out of him, staining the figure’s robes. The figure slipped on the blood, but sliced a line clean across the man’s neck.  
Hazael glanced over at Ross. She was shaking, raking her nails across her arms. Wordlessly, Hazael pushed herself next to Ross, close enough that their thighs and knees touched.  
The next victim died from getting stabbed in between every vertebrae of their spinal cord. The shrouded figure gouged out his vertebrae, strung them together, and wore them as a necklace. Then, just when Hazael thought it was over, the mystery person took out a different knife, a sharper, more specialized one, and slowly peeled off his victim’s face.  
Ross was now using her sharpened acrylic nails to cut into her leg. Slowly, Hazael took both of Ross’ hands in her own, careful to keep her eyes on the screen.  
The final victim in the first five minutes was the worst, even for Hazael. A woman, the masked figure’s hostage’s lover, was led into a poison chamber. The door was sealed, and then the room filled with a green-tinged poison. The woman choked herself, her eyes bugging out. She threw up. She cut her right hand off. Then, suddenly, she smiled. She yelled ‘I’m better! I’m going to live! It spared me!’ Then, she fell, seizing on the ground. Then, the woman was gone.  
Ross screamed.  
CHAPTER 15: Ross  
Ross screamed for what felt like forever, nails digging deeper into Hazael’s palms with each one. Wiping away tears that she didn’t know she had, she leaned into Hazael’s shoulder, then, realizing it was with her injured shoulder, she let herself fall into Hazael’s lap.  
Staring up into Hazael’s eyes, she noticed how remarkably similar their eyes were. Hazael’s were a dark brown, and Ross, along with everyone else in her family, had stark black eyes. It was a family legend that the only ones who could see color in their eyes were those in love with them. “Can I go to sleep here?”  
Hazael laughed, a calming sound, that reminded Ross of crashing waves. “Of course. Just tell me if you need anything.”  
Hazael said more, but Ross didn’t hear. Her breathing steadied, and soon she was asleep.  
Her dreams were a mess. Electa, Nori, Eli, Akash, Hazael. All of their faces floated in and out of Ross’ dreams. She relieved stabbing Akash killing himself, Nori killing Eli, killing Nori, and saving Hazael. Slipping on blood. Looking at her hands, and realizing there was both dried and new blood on them. Staining the thread pink. Hazael’s pale face, Ross’ dread that she would be alone.  
Then, Electa. Every conversation they’d ever had, already fading, but still omnipresent in Ross’ dream. Their last kill. Their capture. Their last conversation. Electa’s motionless body, choked by the poison fumes.  
Ross awoke, in a cold sweat. She realized that she was in Hazael’s lap, her hand casually draped over Ross’ face. Her head bent forward, asleep.  
Gradually, Ross got up. She inched her head up higher, swung her legs over the edge. Every definitive action making barely a wrinkle of noise in the fabric of sound. Slowly, she stood.  
Ross staggered, gripping onto the wall.  
“What time is it?” Hazael lifted her head up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.  
“You can go back to sleep.”  
Hazael started to lay back down, then sat back up. “No. Why are you up?”  
“Nightmares. I’ve found that hot chocolate always helps.”  
“Then it’s too bad that we don’t have any.”  
“Chocolate cake?”  
“Not anymore.”  
“Anything with chocolate?”  
“... Sorry.”  
“Well, we have to get some.”  
“At--” Hazael’s eyes flashed blue. “--three in the morning?”  
“Yes. Do you have money?”  
“Around 700 plibons.”  
“That should be enough for a week of groceries.”  
“So we’re going to go grocery shopping, when neither of us can walk, at three in the morning?”  
“Yes.”  
“I’m in.”  
CHAPTER 15: Haze  
It took altogether too much time, but eventually Hazael and Ross found the elevator. The elevator ride, however, according to Ross, “took enough fucking time for the Earth to run out of natural resources.” Finally, they reached the lowest level, about 200 feet below sea level. They were in the Warehouse.  
“So, like, what even is this place?”  
“The Warehouse is the place all prisoners and staff go to get any goods or services provided by the facility that they may need.”  
“What’d you do, memorize the brochure?”  
“Yes.”  
“So… Chocolate first?”  
“Chocolate’s always first.” Ross grabbed Hazael’s wrist, but Hazael flinched away. “What’s wrong?”  
“I can’t do unsolicited physical contact. Sorry.”  
“Oh. I’m sorry; are you okay?”  
“Yeah.” Hazael smiled at Ross, a soft, sad thing.  
Gently this time, Ross started again. “Alright, we’re gonna go to the food section first. You, get chocolate ice cream and chocolate cookies, and whatever else you want. I’ll get brownies, hot chocolate, and cupcakes.”  
“We should keep a 250 plibon budget so we can buy clothes. I don’t know about you, but these hospital-mandated clothes are getting old.”  
“Good idea. Should I sacrifice the brownies or the cupcakes?”  
“Cupcakes.” Ross glared at Hazael. “... Brownies?”  
“Good answer. Meet you at the clothing section in 15 minutes.”  
The warehouse was bigger than Hazael had ever expected it to be, and it took her almost all of the 15 minutes just to find the ice cream. Luckily, the cookies were near the ice cream, so Hazael was able to sprint out in less than half an hour. When she got to the clothing section, Ross was nowhere to be found.  
“Ross? Are you there?” Hazael leaned onto her MGT, or Material Good Transporter, just watching everyone go by. A woman in a hijab, a man in a yarmulke. A laughing person, holding hands with a crying person. A small child, an old woman. A strong person, a weak person. People from all walks of life were here, and they all had but one thing in common: They survived.  
The staff were there too. They wore shimmery white lab coats with visible armor. Their eyes had been replaced with robotic ones, their hands and feet and ears and mouth and nose machines. They were either avoided or spat on, those who had devoted their entire lives to becoming more machine than human.  
Then, Hazael saw a flash of long, blonde hair. Pale skin. Blue freckles, put on with a Sharpie. A permanent shadow etched across her face. “Millie?”  
Millie turned around, hand already on her knife. “Hazael?”  
“The one and only.”  
Millie ran over to Hazael. “What are you doing here?” Her voice had gotten stronger in the last four years.  
“I could say the same of you. The last time I saw you, you were fourteen.”  
“You mean, the last time you saw me--your best friend--Lita dumped me and then got back together with you.”  
Hazael winced. “I’m still sorry about that.”  
Millie punched Hazael lightly. “As you should be.”  
“But, seriously. Why are you in a Federation of Progress prison?”  
“Oh. That.” Millie shrugged. “You know how the government has a twisted sense of humor?”  
“All too well.”  
“Well, apparently it’s a crime to be molested by a pedophile.”  
“... What? Someone molested you?”  
“Yeah. When I was seventeen, Arielle--you know, Lita’s sister--drugged and raped me. A few months ago, FOP officials found out and arrested the both of us. As soon as we got into the life and death rooms, I killed her. Then I killed everyone else, except for my Survivor Mate, Katrinci.” Millie tilted her head. “You?”  
Hazael’s voice shook. “I-I’m so sorry, Millie. If I had known, I would have killed her myself. I’m so, so sorry. Um, I guess my deal is that Lita tried to blow up a city. And I killed her before she could do that. And then another girl forced me to turn a blowtorch on her. And then I started a business helping people however I could. Most of them wanted me to kill them, but I didn’t. I helped them in other ways.”  
“But where were you?”  
“What?”  
“You and Lita were missing. For four years.”  
“My family… I needed to leave. And Lita heard about my plans and stapled me to the wall until I let her go with me. I killed her about a year later. My business was at the height of its profits when I got arrested.”  
“Hazael?” Ross emerged from the food section, leaning on her MGT, her shoulder a shade of yellow.  
Millie stuck out her hand, and her hundred-watt smile lit up the room. “I’m Millie. I’ve known Hazael basically since I was born.”  
Ross shook Millie’s hand for a half second more than she had to. “I’m Ross. I Survived with Hazael.”  
“Are there… Forks in your shoulder?”  
“Yes.”  
“Have you guys got your microchips fitted yet?”  
Hazael’s eyes flashed blue. “In about four hours.”  
“So, you guys just survived?”  
“Pretty much.”  
“Wow. The first few days after Katrinci and I survived, we just spent the entire time in our apartment.”  
Ross shrugged. “We needed the chocolate.”  
Millie laughed, and the sound reminded Hazael of sun-bleached memories. “Seems you also need clothes, being in the hospital underlinens and all.”  
“That’s actually exactly what we were about to do.”  
“Wait, Haze… You were going to go clothes shopping in the Warehouse?”  
“Yes…?”  
Turning to Ross, Millie grinned. “Hazael has no sense of personal style. She always buys the cheapest thing, no matter what.”  
“Well, Millie, not everyone’s rich like you.”  
“But you can afford to spend more than twenty plibons on clothes!”  
“You spend less than one hundred plibons on clothes?”  
“See? Hazael needs serious help in the fashion department. Which is why I need to help you.”  
“Twenty plibons… Will maybe buy a pair of socks. Where do you buy clothes?!”  
“Uh… Doesn’t matter.”  
“She used to buy old clothes off of people for 10% of the retail price.” Millie flipped her hair and grinned.  
“Seriously? You’re that cheap?”  
“Maybe.” Hazael was blushing now.  
“I’m second handedly embarrassed for you.”  
Millie laughed again, but lighter this time. “Let’s go shopping! I’ll pay!” She ran into the clothing section, and Hazael and Ross tried to follow, but both fell over.  
“MILLIE!” Slowly, Millie came back into view. Hazael sat up. “We can barely walk, much less run.”  
“Oh. Right. I always forget. You can just sit in your MGTs.”  
“But--there’s cupcakes--”  
“Just sit in there, and I can program my microchip to get them to follow me.” Staggering, Hazael threw herself into the magnetically supported basket. Ross gracefully held her groceries, then sat on the rim. Millie’s eyes glowed blue.  
Then, she started running. For a moment, nothing happened. All at once, Ross and Hazael’s MGTs floated to Millie’s side. “Great. That worked.”  
“Where shall we go first, Captain Millie?”  
“Dresses are always fun.”  
Ross flinched. “Can we not?”  
“I mean, you’re the one wearing it. How about coats and jackets?”  
“That works.”  
Millie’s eyes flashed blue. “They should be around that corner.” She ran to the right, and grinned. Hazael and Ross followed. They rounded the corner, and found Millie on the ground. Their MGTs stopped. Millie looked up at them, and a scream bubbled up in Ross’ mouth.  
CHAPTER 16: Ross  
Hazael screamed. “MILLIE!”  
Ross jumped off of her MGT. “Someone help!” She ripped a jacket off its display, and pressed it to Millie’s eyes. “What happened?”  
“My roommate… Katrinci. They stabbed my eyes with a fork and took them. Then they ripped out my microchip.”  
Hazael shimmied out of her MGT. “Do you still want to do the thing we talked about in seventh grade?”  
“What thing--oh. Oh, yeah. I do want to do that. Do you have a vial?”  
“I have a sterile bag.”  
“That’ll work.”  
Ross looked from Millie to Hazael. “Wait, what are you guys doing?”  
Hazael took a bag from her sleeve. “When I was thirteen and Millie was eleven, we agreed that if we were both bleeding a lot, before saving the other, we’d gather as much blood as we could.”  
“... Why?”  
“To make nail polish and lipstick, duh. Therefore, you could give a blood-borne virus to someone you hate by touching them, and sign a blood pact with someone by kissing them.” Hazael carefully lifted the jacket off Millie’s right eye, and then held the open end of the bag to the blood.  
“And, in the however-many-years it’s been since then, your logic hasn’t changed?”  
Hazael looked up at Ross, her bag slowly filling up with blood. “It’s still a freaking awesome concept.”  
“If Millie survives from blood loss.”  
“Millie, how much blood have you lost in the last thirty days?”  
“No blood at all.”  
“See? She’ll be fine.”  
“I am getting a little dizzy, though.”  
“Right. We should stop.” Hazael took the almost-full bag away, and applied pressure to Millie’s eye with the jacket.  
Suddenly, Ross screamed.  
“Ross? I can only deal with one crisis at a time here. What’s wrong?”  
Ross was balled up on the floor, clutching her mechanical hand in her left. Tears rolled down her face, a contradiction to her demeanor. “Blood… On my hands… Electa…”  
“Oh. Oh, shit. Millie? You got the jacket?”  
“I’m bleeding out over here. But yes, I’ll be fine.” Millie paused, as though contemplating an awry thought. Then, what was left of her face lit up. “I’M FUCKING BLIND NOW!”  
Hazael sighed. “You literally don’t have the bottom half of your face already.”  
“Well, yeah, but, my eyes--”  
“I know! But we’ll figure it out, together this time, as soon as I deal with Ross.” Hazael dragged herself over to Ross, who was now silently sobbing.  
“Electa… No…”  
“Hey, Ross?”  
“My sister…”  
“Ross.”  
“Minha luz e dia…”  
“Hey, Ross, can you look at me?” Ross looked up, her eyes unfocused pools of black ink. “Ross.” Ross, seemingly for the first time, noticed Hazael. “I know what it feels like. To lose someone you care about.”  
“No, you don’t. Electa was my best friend, my first friend, my only friend. My sister.”  
“Maybe I don’t know what it’s like. I only leave people, I never get left.”  
“Please… Please just go away. You don’t know what it’s like, and you never will.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t say that. The first time, people always said that. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. The only thing that you could possibly be sorry for is me. And I don’t need your sympathy. So just go away.”  
“I will. I have one question for you, but you don’t have to answer it.” Ross nodded, wiping tears and snot from her face with her right hand. “How did Electa want to die?”  
“A martyr. We agreed on that, after we killed our first ambassador. We’d prefer to die, knowing we did our best, but also knowing what would happen before it did.”  
“So, would you say that Electa died a martyr? Did she know what she was getting into? Did she do her best?”  
“I--I guess.”  
“Then at least her death isn’t in vain.”  
“But it was.”  
“How?”  
“She didn’t have to die. I could’ve died. I could’ve hurled myself into the poison before her. She could be alive right now, talking to you. But she’s dead. Because I let her die. Because I was selfish enough--”  
“Ross.” Ross stopped. “Electa chose to die, okay? You couldn't have stopped her. You can’t let yourself think that way. She made her choice, and you made yours. You can’t change that now.”  
“But, if I could have changed it, okay? Electa didn’t have to--”  
“But she did. She sacrificed herself for you, and the best thing you can do is live it out.”  
“But--”  
Hazael put a hand over Ross’ mouth. “I know, okay? Do you think I don’t remember the eight people who died so I could survive? Do you think I’ve forgotten the people I’ve killed? Do you think I’ve buried thoughts of all the people I’ve left and will continue to leave?” Hazael was yelling now, almost screaming. “No. I remember them all. Every face that haunts me, every body that I’ve left behind. And trust me, it never gets easier. Never. But you have to power through it, and not let it get to you. That’s the only way to survive.” Ross nodded, and wiped away another wave of tears. “I have to get back to Millie now, because she might be dying. Because remember, you still have a life to live, even if Electa’s no longer in it. Okay?”  
“Yeah.”  
Hazael smiled, a mournful thing. She turned around, expecting Millie to be sitting in a pool of her own blood.  
“Where’s Millie?”  
A staff member appeared at Hazael’s shoulder. “Dead.”  
“WHAT?”  
They chuckled, their intentions hidden behind their tinted goggles. “Ah, survivors. So easy to scare. No, Amelidessa Roan is alive. She’ll survive. She’ll get re-fitted for hydraulic-powered eyes, for the fifth time, but this time she’ll have to use a synthetic eye cover.”  
“You mean her original eyes are completely gone?”  
“We’ve interrogated this Katrinci person. They haven’t given the location. Besides, they were stabbed with a fork. There was no way for them to be completely recovered.” The staff members' coats swished around their ankles.  
Ross winced. “So, Millie’s eyes are completely robotic now?”  
“Indeed.”  
“Wait, how did Millie disappear so fast?”  
“Ah, little Hazael. There are some secrets for you not to know.” Hazael balled her fists.  
“Where’s Millie?”  
“In surgery. Getting her microchip updated so she doesn’t remember the pain.”  
“How much will she forget?”  
“The last five hours.”  
“Oh, okay. Ross, let’s go back to our apartment or whatever.”  
“The apartment? But what about Millie?”  
“It’s better if I don’t see another ghost from my past now.”  
The staff member smirked. “An admirable choice, Survivor Beatus. To leave the girl you abandoned.”  
“I just can’t deal with Millie right now, okay?” Hazael turned to Ross. “Can we please go back?”  
“Yeah. We still have to get clothes.”  
“Oh. Right. I’ll just find a shift or something. Get what you want, I’ll pay.”  
Hazael and Ross slowly made their way through the store, Ross choosing a shirt, jacket and jeans, and Hazael picking out three shifts. They found the checkout line, bought their food and clothes, and walked-slash-staggered back to their apartment.  
Finally at what would be her home for the next 364 days, Hazael laid down on the couch and closed her eyes.  
“You do know that we have to go back down there for our microchips to be updated in an hour and a half, right?”  
Hazael groaned. “I forgot about that.”  
“Obviously.”  
Ross sat down in one of the circle-shaped chairs, her posture alert. “So, what’s with you and Millie?”  
Hazael opened her eyes. “What’s with you being an assassin?”  
“That’s fair.” Ross paused. “Electa and I became assassins to eliminate a bit of the evil in this world.”  
“Right. What’s the real reason? The revenge plot? The tragic past?”  
“We wanted to avenge our parents’ senseless murders.”  
“Really?”  
“No, dumbass. We noticed that there were a lot of bad people in the world, and we chose to eliminate them.”  
“By becoming a bad person yourself.”  
“A small price to pay.”  
“I suppose I should tell you about Millie and I now.”  
“I suppose you should.”  
Hazael sat up on the futon, being careful not to aggravate her stomach wound. “Well, where to begin? We met for the first time three days after Millie had been born.”  
“Continue.”  
“Our moms were best friends. They did everything together, even give birth on the same day.”  
“But you’re older.”  
“By two years and eleven minutes.”  
“Oh.”  
“We grew up together. We were fairy princesses together. We ate ketchup on everything together. We made forts together. We had crushes on the same people. Trust me, Millie and I were infuriating children.” Hazael smiled.  
“So why don’t you want to see her now?”  
“Oh. When I was sixteen, I ran away with my sorta-ex-girlfriend, sorta Millie’s girlfriend.”  
“But that doesn’t explain why you won’t talk to her now. I mean, you guys got along earlier.”  
“Millie and I… Have a complicated relationship. She was always on my parent’s side, and I never was. If she remembered me, the first thing she would do would be to tell my parents.”  
“I take it you have a bad relationship with your parents?”  
“You could say that.”  
“Can’t relate.”  
“You’re lucky.”  
“Am I?”  
“I’m going to go to sleep.” Hazael’s eyes flashed blue. “My alarm is set for thirty minutes from now.”  
“I’m going to make brownies.”  
CHAPTER 18 maybe  
Hazael had barely shut her eyes when the doorbell rang. “Can I not sleep around here?” She grumbled. Hazael sat up, and found Ross already opening the door. “Don’t open that!”  
Ross turned around, her face tear-streaked. “Why?”  
“Oh. Are you--are you okay? Let me answer it.”  
“Does it look like I was crying?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Could you open it?”  
“Yeah.” Hazael walked over to the door slowly, but without leaning on any walls. She opened the door, and a woman who looked to be in her thirties appeared. She had thick, long dark brown hair, and pale skin.  
“Hello.”  
“Hi.”  
“Are you Hazael Beatus?”  
“The one and only.”  
“May I speak with you for a moment? Outside?”  
“Sure.” Hazael turned around. “Ross, I’ll be right back!” Hazael walked outside, into the hallway surrounding their apartment. “What’s up?”  
“What do you know of Juan Sanchez?”  
“I don’t know who that is.”  
The woman spat in Hazael’s face. “Liar. I’ll come back for you.” She sprinted away.  
Hazael walked back into her apartment. “Do you know who that lady was?”  
Ross was putting brownies into the oven. “She kinda looked like my sister Clea. But other than that, I have no idea.”  
“What’s your last name again?”  
“Sanchez. It’s very common.”  
“Do you know a Juan Sanchez by any chance? She asked me if I knew who that was.” Ross froze, spilling some of the brownie mix on the floor. “What is it?”  
“Electa… was transgender. Juan was her deadname. That’s the only Juan Sanchez I know.”  
“Oh, oh no.”  
“What?”  
“That means this woman is someone from your past. Someone who only knew Electa as her deadname. How long has it been since Electa socially transitioned?”  
“Um, she started transitioning when I was eight, and she was ten. So about 2112.”  
“So this person who looked like your sister, and who hasn’t seen you guys since 2112 or before that.”  
“Or they’re just transphobic.”  
“True. Do you have any long-lost family members?”  
“Not really, actually. My parents were both only children, and the grandparents on my mom’s side died from cancer, and the ones on my dad’s hate us. And we have restraining orders against them. And I know what they look like. But, they’re not transphobic. Even they would refer to Electa by the correct pronouns.”  
“Any dead relatives whose bodies were never found?”  
“Dead relatives, yes. Bodies, also yes. Really, nobody.”  
“More other than your grandparents and Electa?”  
“My moms and second-oldest sister, Kala. They died when I was seven.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah.”  
“That must be terrible, to have most of your family dead.”  
“Not most. I have Clea, my sister, Ash, my brother, and Ariken, my nephew. I have my grandparents. I have Elec--” Ross took a deep breath. “I have five out of eleven. Five people who I can trust.”  
“You have me, too. Six out of twelve.”  
“I have… You?”  
“Yeah. You do.”  
“I met you two days ago.”  
“But I won’t kill you. And you haven’t killed me yet, so I’m assuming that you’re not going to.” Hazael paused. “There is no one else here that either of us can trust. Therefore, we have each other. And besides, if you trust me enough to explicitly tell me all the people you have, maybe I can be included in that list…?”  
Ross smiled, revealing dimples. “Sure. You can be one of the people I trust.” Then, Ross frowned. “Only if you tell me who or what, exactly, did you run away from.”  
CHAPTER 19 maybes  
“Who I ran away from?”  
“With your girlfriend, or ex girlfriend, or Millie’s girlfriend.”  
“My past.”  
“Specific! Answers!”  
“My parents.”  
“And…?”  
“Everyone who chose my parents over me.”  
“Who was…?”  
“The entire town of Spekole, Narsha, Federation of Progress.”  
“You lived in Narsha?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Want to play truth or dare, with randomly generated truth or dares?”  
“Sure. Always more fun that way.”  
“The microchips scan the other’s insecurities and then ask the question, right?”  
“Yeah. Just put it into truth or dare mode.”  
Both of their eyes glowed blue, and as they turned to face each other, the dread and unease in the room mounted to strenuous levels.  
“I’ve got everything scanned.” A beat later, Ross did too.  
“It wants me to go first.” Ross’ eyes glowed blue. “Truth or dare?”  
“Dare.”  
“WHAT THE FUCK?” Ross grabbed her head.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“It’s giving me… Uh… Bad dares.”  
“Like what?”  
Ross shrugged. “It wants you to kiss me.”  
Hazael contemplated this. “Wow. Seems the microchip knows me better than I do. I didn’t even know that was one of my insecurities.”  
“You don’t want to kiss me?”  
“Well, it preys on your insecurities, not your desires. I guess an insecurity of mine is romantic relationships.”  
“Oh. Okay, that’s much better.” Ross’ eyes flashed blue. “It’s not giving me options. It says that you have to go with the strongest one.”  
“Ah, the solitary confinement update. Learn your deepest, darkest insecurities by playing truth or dare with yourself.”  
“But… It’s saying that romantic relationships are your biggest insecurity.”  
“Oh. That. I may have lied.”  
“It’s saying that I have to dare you, or the game is terminated.”  
“Well, then dare me.”  
“Do you know how microchip truth or dare works?”  
“Obviously. You have to dare me since you asked, and I can choose to accept or decline your dare.”  
“... No. As soon as I dare you, your microchip will force you to do whatever it is, since you agreed to play.”  
“Oh. That changes things. Dare me anyway.”  
“Why?”  
“So I can ask you, obviously.”  
“Okay…” Ross looked at Hazael, breathing faster than usual. Her eyes turned a shade of Arctic blue. “I dare Hazael Beatus to kiss me on the lips.”  
“Wait, on the lips? I--” Hazael’s eyes turned blue. She stepped forward, gripping the back of Ross’ head aggressively. Ross’ eyes were still blue, but a more natural shade.  
Hazael shook out of her stupor, hand falling to her side. “Sorry, I didn’t ask. Can I kiss you?”  
Ross’ eyes turned their usual shade of black. “Yeah, you can.” She forced a smile through her deer-in-headlights expression. “I’m mostly just wondering what you’re going to ask me.”  
Hazael smiled sadly. “Excellent. Let’s face my fear.” Her eyes turned an icy blue. Ross forced her mind to go to the time, her calander, play an idiotic game, anything. She felt Hazael hold the side of her face and tilt it to the right, gently this time. Ross froze, her hands stiff at her sides. She felt Hazael barely brush her lips, then pull away.  
“Truth or dare?” Hazael’s eyes were blue.  
“Um… Dare.”  
“That’s strange. But it seems like the most harmless one. I dare Rosa-Maria Sanchez--it’s Ross, you idiotic machine--to read the the writing on the brownie mix.”  
“Reading?”  
Hazael’s eyes turned their natural shade. “Yeah, I thought it was weird.” Ross’ hands were shaking. “Are you okay?”  
Ross smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Let me just go grab the box.”  
She walked over to the kitchen, hands shaking. Ross took the brownie box out of the recycling bin and sat back down on the couch.  
“It must have glitched or something--”  
“No. It didn’t.” Ross grimaced.  
“What?”  
“I… I don’t know how to read.”  
Hazael stared at Ross for a moment, then smiled. “Well, it’s never too late to start.”  
Ross turned away. “It’s too late for me.”  
“Do you really not want to know how to read?”  
“There’s no way you can teach me when everyone else has failed.”  
“Ah. I accept your challenge.”  
Ross shook her head. “I’m dyslexic. I have ADD. I lived in a poor neighborhood. You can’t change that.”  
“Maybe. But maybe--oh.”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“It’s time for our microchips to be updated.”  
CHAPTER 20  
Hazael and Ross stood outside the medbay, waiting for their numbers to be called.  
“Do you think they’ve really had 2,378 patients today?”  
“I don’t know. I mean, microchip surgeries are fairly easy.”  
“Since nobody has their real eyes anymore.”  
Nurse Podmokoly walked out of the double doors, almost straight into Ross. “Hazael Beatus? Number 2,378?”  
“Here.”  
“Follow me.”  
“See you, Ross.”  
“It won’t take long.”  
Nurse Podmokoly ushered Hazael through the double doors, as another patient was leaving. Blue freckles. Blonde hair. Half of her face burnt off. A grimace through the pain.  
“Millie?” Hazael winced. She hadn’t meant to say her name.  
“Did someone say my name?” Millie spun around. “I can’t see you, because SOMEONE botched my surgery, so I can’t SEE for another TWO HOURS. Who said my name?”  
Hazael kicked herself mentally. She looked to Nurse Podmokoly for help.  
“Nobody said your name, dear. Must be the drugs.”  
“Huh. Sounded like Hazael. But she wouldn’t be here, she’s too good.”  
“Why don’t you go back into the waiting room?”  
“Yeah… I can do that… Thanks…” Millie turned in the opposite direction.  
“The door is the other way.”  
“Oh.” Millie staggered to the door, almost falling through.  
“Follow me, Patient Number 2,378.”  
Nurse Podmokoly led the way through the maze of a hospital wing, passing charred off arms, gnawed faces and people with wires. At the very end was a room labeled “Microchip and eye-related surgeries.”  
Nurse Podmololy ushered Hazael in, and then shut the door behind her. A staff member in goggles approached Hazael.  
“Ah, Miss Beatus. Getting your microchip updated?”  
“Obviously.”  
They smiled, their teeth stained blue. “No need to be rude, Hazael. Sit in this chair, and I can take your eyes out.”  
Hazael sat in a hard, barely-cushioned chair. The staff member fastened coils around her wrists and ankles, and Hazael was reminded of the long ride to the doors of life and death.  
“Now, Miss Beatus, do you know what we’re going to do right now?”  
“Everyone does.”  
“What, exactly, is that?”  
Hazael stared at the staff member’s tinted goggles. “You’re going to take out my eyes.”  
“Ah, yes, the wonders of modern medicine!” The staff member smiled, showing all of their teeth. “Your eyes were replaced at birth by robotic eyes, with just the thinnest layer of your natural eye still on them. The robotic eyes contain microchips, which allow you to have a computer in your mind! All doctors have become coders and workers of machinery!”  
“So, you really are into history, huh?”  
“It’s my job. Now, I’m going to take your eyes out in three--two--one--” The staff member used their gloved hands to pluck Hazael’s eyes out of her head.  
“Ow!”  
The staff member chuckled. “Ah, the pain will fade away, dear. Humans are wonderful like that.” The only thing Hazael could see was the staff members' gloves. Then, he flipped a recessed switch on the back of her right eyeball, and the world went black.  
Hazael’s other senses came alive. Her hearing allowed her to hear the staff member removing her microchip from her left eye, her touch allowed her to feel the coils that bound her, and her smell allowed her to breath in the sterility of the medbay.  
“How long will it take?”  
“Not long.”  
Hazael focused on her breathing, already missing the convenience of distraction her microchip provided. She heard clicks and whirrs coming from her microchip, a sure sign that the programming was being altered.  
“What’s in this update?”  
“It’s called the prison update, and it’s better than the solitary confinement update by a lot. You can synch microchips with officials and your survivor mate, and you get one video chat a week!”  
“What else?”  
“You get the job applications for whatever jobs are available. Do you know the minimum wage in this country, Hazael Beatus?”  
“Sixty plibons an hour?”  
“Roughly. But here at Federation of Progress Prison Number Thirty-Nine, our minimum wage is seventy plibons an hour! How’s that for treating prisoners amazingly!”  
“There’s only one store here, where everything is overpriced. You’re creating your own economy within the prison, and even with the minimum salary being raised, it still isn’t enough to buy food, clothing and water, pay bills and taxes.”  
“Your microchip is done.” The staff member carefully placed Hazael’s eyes back into her head, and they felt warmer than usual. “They should regulate to your body temperature soon enough.” They undid the coils by sending them flying back into their gloves.  
“Thank you.” Hazael stood up, and started to walk away.  
“Oh, and Miss Beatus?” The staff member grabbed Hazael’s arm, and she jumped away. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but at eight in the evening tonight the General is having a public press conference about you prisoners. Feel free to listen in.”  
“I might. Thank you for the recommendation.” Hazael walked back into the main medbay, where Nurse Podmokoly was waiting.  
“Was the operation successful?”  
“I mean, I can see.” Hazael gestured to her eyes, and then started walking towards the waiting room.  
“I suppose it was, then.” Nurse Podmokoly twisted a strand of bright red hair as she walked. “I’ll drop you off in the waiting room, and then I’ll fetch Miss Sanchez.”  
Hazael pushed open the waiting room door, to find Millie and Ross staring at her.  
CHAPTER 21  
“I knew it was you, Hazael!” Millie stood up from her seat, smiling as much as her cyborgial mouth would let her.  
“You didn’t believe me?” Ross crossed her arms.  
“You’re a stranger in a prison where I can’t trust basically anyone.”  
“Good point.”  
“Hi, Millie. I see you’ve met Ross.”  
Millie glared at Hazael. “Apparently I already did, but someone didn’t bother filling me in after the memory wipe.”  
“Sorry about that, but we could barely walk then, much less run two miles to keep up with the hospital transports!”  
“Sorry to stop the reunion, but I need to update Miss Sanchez’s microchip.” Nurse Podmokoly was leaning against the wall.  
“Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot about that. Where do I go?”  
“Follow me.” Ross followed Nurse Podmokly through the doors, and Millie and Hazael were alone in the waiting room.  
“So. Where to begin?” Millie leaned against the wall, her steel-toed boots more obvious to Hazael with every second.  
“Are you going to beat me up?”  
Millie grinned, her metal face contorting. “Not yet.”  
“Yet?”  
Millie scoffed. “I should beat you up. You left me in that nowhere town. You left everyone. But I’m not going to beat you up, because you and your survivor mate haven’t been here long enough to get microchips. Therefore, you’re either suffering from emotional trauma, physical trauma, or both.”  
“Thanks, I guess. Ross didn’t introduce herself?”  
“No. I didn’t know her name until you said it earlier.”  
“What did she tell you?”  
“She was your survivor mate. Both you and her already ran into me. You saw me get my eyes stabbed out. Obviously you didn’t go to the hospital. Apparently I was saying Katrinci did it. It took awhile just to get that out of her.”  
“Who is Katrinci, anyway?”  
“My survivor mate.”  
“Oh. Do you want them arrested, or something?”  
“No. It’s okay.”  
“But… They stabbed your eyes out.”  
“And… You left me behind for four years. I’m not trying to get a restraining order against you.”  
“You’re seriously comparin getting your eyes stabbed out with me running away without you?”  
Millie’s grin vanished. “You really think that getting my eyes stabbed out even compares to my best friend, my only friend, disappearing? And never running into her until you’re both in prison? Everyone thought you were dead. Everyone except me. Then, I find out by someone else that you’ve been here the whole time? That you’ve been perfectly alive, and you let me think you were dead? Did you once--just once--think about everyone you left behind? Your parents. Your siblings. Me.”  
Hazael didn’t say anything.  
“Have you forgotten why my face is like this?” Millie gestured to the bottom half of her face, of the metal plate that had replaced her mouth and nose. “Did you just forget that I FELL INTO AN INCINERATOR FOR YOU, HAZAEL? DID YOU LET YOURSELF FORGET ABOUT OUR SECRET HANDSHAKE? HOW WE USED TO EAT EVERYTHING WITH KETCHUP? WHEN WE HAD CRUSHES ON THE SAME PEOPLE? DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER? OR DID YOU FORGET IT ALL?”  
Hazael was silent.  
“All these years, I kept imagining our conversation, when you finally came back home. All these years, I thought that you missed me like I missed you. But it seems that you’re just as cold and heartless as everyone said.” Millie laughed, a maddening sound. “To think that I stood up for you.”  
Millie started walking towards the doors, her steel-toed boots loud along the sterile floors.  
“Millie, wait--” Millie kept walking. “Millie, Mills, Amelidessa! Please. Let me talk to you.” Millie stopped, her cloak swishing from side to side.  
“I’m not going to tell your parents that you’re here, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know that there was a reason you ran away.”  
“Millie, please. I wanted to talk to you, so many times--”  
“I don’t care about your excuses, Hazael. Whatever they are, they don’t change the fact that you never came back. You never did talk to me. Four years is too long, Hazael.” Millie turned around, tear lines streaked along her cheeks. “This time, for once in our entire relationship, I am going to be the one who leaves. And I’m never coming back.” Millie opened the door, and called a transporter with her microchip. She walked onto it, and then vanished.  
Hazael sank into the nearest chair, head in her hands. Sobs racked her body, and once they started, they wouldn’t stop. Tears spilled across her cheeks like a river finally breaking a dam. She shook silently for what seemed like forever, paying no attention to doors closing and opening. Gut-wrenching sobs, followed by a gasp of breath, in a seemingly endless succession.  
Finally, she stopped, choking out the last hiccups. She looked up, and there was Ross. Ross’ hand was raised.  
“Don’t hit me!” Hazael put her arms out above her head, forming a barrier between Ross’ hand and her face.  
“I wasn’t going to--oh. Oh, no.” Ross sat down on the chair next to Hazael. Hazael slowly brought down her arms, though her hands were still fists. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve been through. I mean, I met you something like three days ago, how could I?” A single tear fell from Hazael’s chin. “But what I do know is that I would never hit you. And if anyone’s ever hit you before, it was not your fault. And I’m here for you. Okay?”  
Hazael nodded. “Thanks.”  
“Now, let’s go back home.”  
“Yeah. Home.”  
CHAPTER 22????  
“We should get a pet.”  
“What?”  
Hazael was lying on the couch, reading an ebook, and Ross was in the chair, rewatching her mom’s favorite television show.  
Ross sat up, her arms draped around her knees. “You know, a cat, a dog, a gecko, or one of those Genmods they had in the pet store.”  
“There’s a pet store here?”  
“Yeah! In the warehouse, that’s why it took me so long.”  
Hazael blinked, and her eyes turned their natural shade. “Can you pet the kittens and puppies?”  
“Yep!”  
“We have to go!”  
\------  
“That one’s name is Juniper.” Hazael’s eyes glowed blue as she pointed to a large cat with short fur.  
“The one that’s blue?” Ross pressed her face against the glass, staring at the cobalt-colored feline.  
“Yeah. According to her online profile, her previous owner dyed her like that with toxic dyes.”  
“Aw. Poor cat.”  
“Kitten, actually. She’s only seven months old.”  
“Poor kitty. Can we adopt her?”  
“No.”  
“Why not?”  
“Millie’s allergi--Oh. I guess Millie wouldn’t be coming around to our apartment. We can adopt her if you clean the litter box.”  
“Why do I have to clean the litter box?”  
“It was your idea to adopt a pet! I’ll feed her and sew her clothes.”  
“If you don’t recall, you weren’t good enough at stitching to sew my shoulder together, whereas I put in better stitches on you than the professional surgeon.”  
“I still want to sew her clothes.”  
“You can sew boots, because those don’t need to look nice.”  
“Hey!”  
“Again, you can’t sew.” Ross walked over to the only employee within sight. “Excuse me? My survivormate and I would like to adopt Juniper.”  
“Are you over sixteen?”  
“I’m nineteen, and Hazael is--wait, Hazael, how old are you?”  
“Twenty.”  
“How long has it been since you two survived?”  
“Three days, I think.”  
“Not enough time to get into drugs... Or ruin your apartment… Here, fill this form and she’s yours.” The attendant’s eyes flashed blue. “What are your Microchip Codes?”  
“Hazael Beatus. 917697375.”  
“Rosa-Maria Sanchez. 992167548.”  
“Sent.” Hazael and Ross transported themselves into their home screens, where the form laid in both of their inboxes. Both Hazael and Ross completed the form in seconds. Both of them signed together, miming the action with their hands. The attendant lifted Juniper out of her plexiglass cage and into Ross’ arms. “Congratulations on your new pet. Please consider buying cat food, a litter box and a collar on your way out.”  
“Wait.” Hazael stopped petting Juniper. “How much is everything?”  
“Two hundred plibons for the cat food, litter box, and collar.”  
“I only have one-hundred seventy plibons in my bank account.”  
The attendant’s eyes lit up. “Would you consider applying for a job here at the Prison Pet Store? We’re slightly understaffed, and would love to have anyone interested and with experience in handling animals.”  
“I have experience with most animals, except cats. But we have Juniper now, so I’ll be qualified in a few days or weeks.”  
“I’ll send you the application.” The attendant’s eyes turned blue. “If you work for three hours tomorrow, you can afford all of Juniper’s supplies and still have 180 plibons in your bank account.”  
“Oh. That’s actually pretty good. I’ll apply as soon as I get home. Thank you.”  
The attendant smiled. “Indeed it is. All of us survivors are just trying to get our lives back on track.”  
“Ah, yes. All of us… Survivors.”  
“Feel free to complete the application wherever you can! Until then, you can bring Juniper home!”  
“Thank you!”  
Hazael, Ross and Juniper walked out of the pet store, and back into the main warehouse.  
“Where to now?” Ross stroked Juniper’s fur.  
“The apartment, I guess. I mean, unless you want to go somewhere else.”  
“Well, I should try to find a job, too.”  
“Yeah, probably.”  
Ross handed Juniper to Hazael. “I’m not really sure what to do with my life now. For years, Electa and I were out on our own, battling the bad guys. I never gave any thought to the idea that it all might end. I never thought about school, about taxes, about my future beyond the next assasination.”  
Hazael shrugged, balancing Juniper on her shoulder. “I always wanted to go to school to be a clinical psychologist. I never had the money, since my currency was in favors.”  
“Favors?”  
“Long story. But why don’t you look up the job opportunities the Warehouse offers?”  
Ross’ eyes turned blue. “Apprentice hairdresser… Microchip Programmer… Surgeon... I’m not qualified for any of these.”  
“What are you qualified for, then?”  
“Killing people. Tracking people. Researching people’s every routine.”  
Hazael’s eyes turned blue. “Bounty hunter! You could be a bounty hunter.”  
CHAPTER 23  
“Oh. That’s weird.” Hazael sat in the chair in the common living space, immersed in the electronically enhanced world in her head.  
Ross ran her hand through her hair, the other hand holding Juniper. “What’s wrong?”  
“A new study just came out that found that seventy-two percent of survivormates end up married, and most date or hook up at some point in their year of prison.”  
“That is weird. I mean, why would you want to be with someone who reminded you of a traumatic experience?”  
Hazael dangled upside-down from the chair. “You’re talking about me, remember?” Hazael paused, pondering the question. “I think that’s exactly why people date their survivormates, though. Their survivormates are the only people that cannot only emphasize with their experiences, but they were right there. Your survivormate is the only one who can really understand you, understand how broken you really are.”  
“You sound like you’re talking about something specific.”  
“My parents. They Survived together.Them being survivormates was the only positive part of their relationship. They always talked about it as the ultimate experience to go through, to find love or whatever.”  
“‘The only positive part?””  
“Their relationship with each other and their children was a mess. Emotionally abusive, verbally abusive, physically abusive at times, the usual for the children of survivormates.”  
“Wait, really? It’s normal for the children of survivor mates to be messed up? Not that you seem to be or anything.”  
Hazael sat upright. “Yeah. Survivor Mates may have high marriage and hookup rates, but for every three survivormate marriages, two end in divorce and half overall end up providing traumatizing childhoods for any unlucky offspring.”  
“I guess I can never have kids, then. Not unless I want to pass on all of my emotional baggage.”  
“Actually, assuming you only ever Survive once, and I’m your only survivormate, you’re under no obligation to marry me or have kids with me. On second thought, I would actually prefer if you had no intentions of marrying me or having kids with me, because I have no intentions of doing either with you.”  
“Got it.”  
“But, my point: If you ever do decide to procreate, you should do it with someone other than me, because if you, as a survivor, chooses to have a romantic relationship with a non-survivor, there are classes and resources the non-survivor can use to help you and the child… Not be sociopaths.”  
“Why did you start talking like an automated voice response?”  
“Survivormate marriages… Are a topic I know too much about to hate talking about.”  
“Oh. What do you want to talk about, then?”  
“Can I just… Go to sleep?”  
“Oh! Right, sorry. I forgot that I woke you up.”  
“Do you always wake up at five?”  
“... Yeah. Electa and I had been doing it for years.”  
“If it was just you and Electa, did you ever see your family?”  
“Well, Electa and I saw our siblings once a month.”  
“You did? That often?”  
Ross smiled. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, after not seeing Millie for four years.”  
“Ha. Millie and I have a… Complicated relationship.”  
Ross’ smile faded. “Hey, Hazael?”  
“Yes?”  
“Earlier. After Millie left. When you were crying. I raised my hand, and you put your arms up.”  
“I have a tendency to do that, yes.”  
Ross lifted Juniper onto her shoulder. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… Was there someone who hit you?”  
“Multiple someones.” Hazael performed a backwards somersault off the chair, and onto the floor. She stood up, brushing the debris off her knees. “But that’s in the past now.”  
“If you ever want to, you can talk about it. To me, I mean. Or anyone else. But me, if you want to.”  
“Thanks. But now, I’m going to sleep.” Hazael walked off toward her room, still limping slightly.  
Then, the doorbell rang.

CHAPTER 23  
“Does the world just… Not want me to sleep?”  
“Go to sleep, Hazael. I can deal with whatever it is.” Hazael nodded, and finally went into her room. Taking a deep breath, Ross strode over to the door. She cautiously opened the door, unable to see the person on the other side.  
Ross was greeted by a flood of synthetic red. Red hair, gelled into spikes. Narrow eyes. Skin tattooed beyond recognition, mostly in reds and oranges. The person stuck out their hand, eyes meeting Ross’.  
“I’m Katrinci.” The person had a thick Republic of Busanian accent.  
Ross shook Katrinci’s hand, noticing that they had a strong grip. “Ross. Who are you, and why did you ring my doorbell?”  
“I’m Millie’s partner.”  
“You’re Millie’s survivorma--Wait.” Ross released Katrinci’s hand. “You stabbed Millie.”  
“You misunderstand. I’m--what’s the word--jung-yohan...Daleun… Millie’s significant other. I’m dating her.”  
“Millie didn’t mention that. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”  
“It’s because of Hazael. Millie got some of her memories back, from when you three were in the warehouse.”  
“Then why isn’t Millie here?”  
“She has a problem with… Confrontation. She would freeze or run away if she saw Hazael, she’d be too scared.” Katrinci sighed. “She said some really bad things to Hazael earlier, Ross. She doesn’t think she can ever go back on those words.”  
“She also must have been really tired, with just getting out of the medbay and all.”  
“Of course.”  
“What did she want to say to Hazael?”  
“In the warehouse, she noticed something. She forgot about it later, of course, but then she remembered what was so pressing. Hazael… She was smiling. When she was talking with you, and looking at those shifts, she was smiling.”  
“So? Hazael smiles all the time, like a normal person does.”  
“That’s the thing. Before Hazael and Lita ran away, Hazael hadn’t smiled, at least in front of Millie, for years. That’s why Millie wanted to apologize, Ross. She realized that she was wrong. Even though Hazael’s leaving was bad for Millie, Millie realized that, more importantly, Hazael’s leaving was the best thing that ever happened to her.”  
“Wow. I didn’t know that.”  
“Neither did I. Millie woke up and told me about half an hour ago, and then I came as soon as I could.”  
“I’ll tell Hazael when she wakes up. Until then, goodbye.” Ross stepped back, and closed the door. She turned around, and Hazael was behind her, white as a ghost. “Haze? Did you hear that?”  
“Millie’s dating her survivormate?”  
“I guess so.”  
“This is bad. This is really bad.” Hazael paced up and down the tiny apartment, breaths ragged.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“What isn’t?”  
“You can talk to me, Hazael.”  
Hazael looked at Ross, hands shaking. “No, Ross, I can’t. I can’t talk to anyone.”  
CHAPTER 234  
“Why?”  
“What?”  
“Why can’t you talk to anyone? Why is your relationship with Millie so ‘complicated?’ Why do you flinch when I touch you? Why is it so bad that Millie’s dating her survivormate? I’ve answered every question you’ve asked me, why can’t you do the same? Also, who the heck is Lita? Why do you deflect my questions?”  
Hazael sank into the couch. “If I have to answer hard questions, can I at least answer them half asleep?”  
“Sure.” Ross allowed her shoulders to relax, and then sat next to Hazael.  
“My relationship with Millie is complicated because we’re the kind of friends who get into fights and then make up right after. More like siblings, really. I was closer to her than my own brothers.”  
“You have brothers?”  
“Yes. But I haven’t talked to them in a long time.” Hazael leaned against the back of the couch. “Millie and I got into a really big fight right before I left. And then… I left. And didn’t apologize. And then, when we meet again, four years later, the first thing she does is scream at me about what a horrible person I am. Next question.”  
“Who’s Lita?”  
“My long-term on-again off-again girlfriend. Since we were ten or eleven. I ran away with her. Then, she went crazy. I guess she always had been. She tried to blow up a city, one neighborhood at a time. In the city we were living in, each neighborhood had large natural gas tanks that stored all the fuel for the heat and transporters of everyone living there. She would walk in, place a bomb in the center of one of the tanks, walk out, and pull the trigger. Lita was on her fifth when I figured it out, and stopped her. She was carrying the bomb, on the way to her next victim. I hugged her, and stole the detonator. I led her into the middle of an abandoned field, and ran as far away as I could before I pushed the button.” Hazael fiddled with an earring in her ear. “I didn’t want to kill her. But killing her meant saving millions.”  
“You did the right thing, Hazael.”  
“I’m sorry, that probably wasn’t what you meant when you wanted to know who Lita was.”  
“No, I meant it when you said you could talk to me.”  
“Thanks. That means a lot. What’s the next one?”  
“Katrinci. Why is it bad that Millie’s dating them?”  
“For my parents, the fact that being survivormates brought them together made them horrible people. They thought everyone around them existed only as a means to an end; that every person either was using them or could be used. They saw each other as a living reminder of all their failures. Then, they saw me and my brothers as an extension of this. A reminder that they’d killed for this, for the opportunities they had now.” Hazael’s eyes hardened. “They didn’t even resort to drugs or alcohol. That’s the worst part. They were comfortable in the reality they had created. They didn’t want to escape. Their actions were one-hundred percent theirs, every action purposeful, every harmful word just to hurt me, not out of rage, or spite. Calculated. I guess that answers two questions, then. It’s why I hate survivormate marriages, and Millie knew that. That’s actually probably why she didn’t tell me about Katrinci--wait.”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Katrinci. Katrinci stabbed Millie. Katrinci stabbed both of Millie’s eyes out with a fork. Did they talk about that at all?”  
“No, not really.”  
“Did they say anything suspicious? Something Millie wouldn’t know?”  
Ross thought back. “Um… Katrinci mostly talked about you, about how you hadn’t smiled until recently, and how Millie noticed you smiling when we were looking at shifts.”  
“When we were looking at shifts…” Hazael gripped the back of the chair. “Ross, Millie got stabbed before we looked at shifts. Katrinci was following us.”  
CHAPTer 24  
“Oh. Oh, no.”  
“What? Did you tell them something?”  
“Yes. I told them Millie had just left the medbay. They probably had a restraining order or something. And I told them where Millie is…” Ross collapsed onto the couch.  
“We’ve got to find Millie.”  
“Do you know her apartment number?”  
“No.”  
“Wait, really? She told me, like five seconds after she met me the second time.”  
“Wow.” Hazael walked to the door. “So, what is it?”  
Ross’ eyes turned blue. “Apartment Number 3007. Only a few hundred apartments away.”  
“So, a mile? Two?”  
“Eight. But we can use our transporters.”  
“I’m so sorry, this is all my fault--”  
“No.” Opening the door, Hazael gestured for Ross to follow. “It’s not your fault. But we need to go, now.”  
“Got it.” Hazael called two transporters to their doorstep, and they climbed on.  
Hazael felt her feet snap into the shoe-holders, her signal to command the transporter. “Apartment Number 3007. Resident: Amelidessa Roan. Speed at 90 percent.” The transporter took off, clicking at a rate 40% higher than its average speed. Ross’’ transporter was on its heels. Within moments, they arrived at Apartment Number 3007’s door.  
Ross stepped out of her transporter first. “It’s… Pink.” The door had been painted the brightest, hottest pink ever to be used as on a door. It was covered in a sheer layer of glitter paint, in which Millie (and Katrinci, apparently) had stuck various pictures and trinkets.  
“Horribly so. But that’s Millie for you.” Hazael stepped off of her transporter, and knocked on the door. “Millie?”  
“I’ll be out in a moment!” Millie’s voice pealed out from under the door, as what sounded like heavy objects fell to the floor. After what seemed like an eternity, Millie opened the door, red-cheeked, and with a shift barely on one shoulder. “Haze? Ross? What are you doing here?” Millie sounded out of breath. “Actually, Ross--what are you doing here?”  
“Um, do you have a restraining order against Katrinci or anything?”  
“No. I should probably get one, though. Why do you ask?”  
“Katrinci came by our apartment, telling us that you had decided that what you said to Hazael was too harsh, and how you hadn’t seen Hazael smile for years, and then she did, or something like that. Also, I may have accidentally told them where you were, so we wanted to make sure that the person who stabbed your eyes out hadn’t killed you.”  
“I appreciate the gesture, but I’m afraid I’m perfectly fine. Goodbye.” Millie slammed the door.  
“Wait, Millie--”  
“Hazael, I meant it when I said that I don’t want to talk to you, okay? Leave. Now.” Hazael turned around, to find herself with a tube of lipstick pointed at her nose.  
“So, Katrinci, we finally meet.”  
CHAPTER somethin  
From behind the hot pink door, a voice cracked. “Katrinci? What are you doing here?”  
“I don’t want to kill your friends, but I will if I have to.”  
Ross scoffed. “Are you going to kill us with lipstick?” Hazael realized that Ross also had a lipstick canister pointed at her face.  
Millie swung open the door, laser gun pointed at Katrinci. “Put down the lipstick tubes, Katrinci.”  
“Wait, are those actual weapons?”  
“They’re bioweapons. If Katrinci detonates the lipstick tubes with their m, genetically modified silverfish will go into your nose and mouth, and slowly eat your brain to pieces. Modern medicine hasn’t caught up yet, and they might figure it out years after you die.”  
“How do you know?”  
“I made them.”  
Hazael tilted her head to the side. “Seems that you’ve acquired more than a few skills since we’ve last seen each other.”  
“No thanks to you.”  
“I deserve that.”  
Katrinci inched the lipstick canisters-turned bioweapons closer and closer to Hazael and Ross. “I don’t want to kill them, Millie.”  
Ross glared at Katrinci. “Then, how about… You don’t kill us?”  
“Millie has to give me what I want.”  
“Hey, Mills?”  
“What, Hazael?”  
“Maybe… Give Katrinci what they want. So they don’t kill us.”  
“I can’t do that, Hazael.”  
“So you’d rather Ross and I die than give them a rock or something?”  
“No… Katrinci, why don’t you explain? Since you’re threatening them and everything.”  
Katrinci pushed the lipstick tubes within an inch of Hazael and Ross’ faces. “Millie says she doesn’t love me. But she does. She won’t let herself say it.”  
Ross ran her hand through her hair. “Um, so if Millie says ‘I love you Katrinci’ you won’t kill us?”  
“Yes.”  
Ross grimaced. “Listen, Millie, I know this is hard. I also know that I’m just a random stranger. You and Katrinci probably killed tons of people in the doors of life and death. But… Hazael means something to you. Or even if she doesn’t now, if you let us die, you’ll never, ever see her again.” Ross cleared her throat. “Millie, I know it’s hard to be left behind. Trust me. But what’s even worse is leaving. It’s worse when you know it’s your fault, and you could have prevented it. It’s worse when you choose to leave, okay? And you will regret this day for the rest of your life if you let your crazy survivormate kill Hazael and I, I promise you.”  
“Fine.” Millie took a deep breath. “Katrinci, I… I love you.”  
Katrinci dropped both tubes of lipstick-slash-bioweapons, and Hazael scrambled to pick them up. Ross walked to Hazael’s side, and the two of them watched as Katrinci embraced Millie.  
“I love you too, Ameli.”  
“Millie, do you still want a restraining order, or--” Millie pulled Katrinci’s collar up and pressed her lips to theirs and then they were kissing. Millie and Katrinci, still making out, walked backwards into Apartment Number 3007. Katrinci kicked the door closed with their foot.  
Hazael laughed to herself. “Well, I guess she doesn’t want a restraining order.”  
“I guess.”  
“Think they’ll be out within an hour?”  
“Probably not.”  
“Then we should just go home.”  
Ross looked up at Hazael. “So the apartment’s… Home now?”  
Hazael shrugged. “I guess it is.”  
“In that case, let’s go home.”  
CHAPTER 7345537  
“Go to sleep. Really. It’s been way too long of a day for you.”  
Hazael rubbed her eyes, Juniper perched on her shoulder. “No… I want to play with the kitten.”  
“Juniper will still be here in the morning.”  
“But… What if she’s not…?”  
“Haze. You’ve been up something like 20 hours. Go to sleep.”  
“But--”  
“Sleep.”  
“Can I just… Sleep here? On the couch?”  
Ross exhaled. “Sure. Of course you can. Just… Get some sleep.”  
Hazael rolled over, placed Juniper on her forehead, and was asleep in seconds.  
Ross had just torn herself away from staring at the kitten when the doorbell rang. Hazael didn’t move, and Ross realized that the sound was coming from her microchip, and it was her virtual doorbell. “Clea Sanchez is calling you.”  
“Accept virtual calls.”  
Ross knew her eyes were blue and that she was standing in the kitchen of her apartment, Nutrition pills about to be popped in hand. But she felt like she was in her old house. The same hand-stitched tablecloth that Ross’ abuelita had sewn for her mothers’ wedding lay on the table, the same mismatched dishes. The only thing different was that the table now had four empty chairs, instead of three. Electa’s picture was taped to one. In the others, Ross’ siblings and nephew.  
“What happened, Rosie?” Clea was the oldest sibling at thirty-one. Her eyes were puffy and red, her hair not in its usual prescisce, practical bun.  
“It’s Ross now.”  
Ash, Ross’ youngest brother, still seventeen, stared at the floor. “Well, Ross, what happened? We know you two went to the doors of life and death. We know only you made it out.”  
“Does Ariken really need to be here for this?”  
Ross’ nephew, Clea’s son, Ariken, was only twelve. “I want to know what happened to Aunt Electa.”  
Clea’s expression was stormy. “Then it’s settled. Ross?”  
“There’s a law. I forget what it’s called, or what number it is, but it states that when two or more people are involved in foreign affairs, one of them must survive and all the others must die. For maximum suffering.”  
“You two were involved in foreign affairs?”  
Ash glared at Ariken. “Obviously.”  
“Both of you, quiet. Rosie, what exactly happened in the doors of life and death?”  
“A disembodied voice told us about the law. Electa walked off towards the door of death, and I barely caught up with her in time. She said to tell you three about her death--”  
“Obviously something you did.”  
“Ash, shut up and let Rosie--Ross talk.”  
“And that there were still corrupt people in the world for me to kill.”  
“No.”  
“What?”  
“You’re not killing anyone.” Clea’s voice was firm. “Electa died because you two were killing people. After you and your survivormate get out, you are coming right back here, absolutely no more killing people allowed.”  
“Auntie Rosie, I don’t want you to die.”  
“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” Ross’ hand neared the ‘leave’ button, and Clea tackled her.  
“Ross. You are not leaving this virtual phone call unless you promise not to kill anyone.”  
Ross stood up, and brushed the all-too-real chalky dust from her knees. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. There are people who deserve to die, Clea. Now, if you’ll excuse me--” With all of her strength, Ross ran straight into the door-size ‘leave’ button.  
When Ross came back into her apartment, she found herself tired, and more than ready to sleep. She slowly drank her Nutrition pills, and then walked back to her room. Ross fell into bed, finally ready to end this long day.  
CHAPTER 7465  
Hazael twisted her hair into an elaborate updo, finally almost ready to head to her first day at the pet store, hours after she had woken up. Ross leaned against the doorframe, reading the day’s news stories and letting the Hybots clean her teeth.  
“Have you given any more thought to becoming a bounty hunter?”  
“I read through the application a few times, and I have to be able to deadlift 1,105 pounds, run a three minute mile, and hit a target perfectly from a gun I’m not used to that’s half a mile away.”  
“That sounds… Impossible.”  
Ross yawned. “Not impossible. The world record for the mile is under three minutes, the deadlift is over a ton, and the hard part of the last one is a new gun. The best of the best, the record holders, would only be good at one of the three, so they have to lower their standards.”  
“But… You’d have to train for years to break a five minute mile.”  
“Then it’s a good thing I have.”  
“Wait, what? You’ve been preparing for the requirements to be a bounty hunter?”  
“Oh, no. But running, shooting and lifting are all pretty important to the assasination profession. My average time for a mile is four minutes, I can shoot up to a mile away with my gun, and I can deadlift somewhere between 850 and 1,000 pounds, depending on the day. I’m just not in shape, and the new gun part will be challenging.” Ross closed her microchip software to find Hazael staring at her, eyes wide.  
“You could be in the Olympics, Ross.”  
“I could, couldn’t I? Being an assassin’s just too fun.” Ross smiled a little, and then went back into the world inside of her microchip. “I will have to find a real job while I’m training, though.”  
“Oh. What are you thinking of?”  
“An aerospace technician.” A beat passed, and Ross grinned. “Tough crowd, huh? No. Probably an entry-level job like yours.”  
“You could always work at the pet store with me. The guy who hired me said they were understaffed--”  
“No thanks. I see enough of you as it is.”  
“Wow, harsh.”  
“No, it’s just… I kind of want to do my own thing.”  
“I get it.” Hazael pinned the last of her hair up, into a topknot-style of Nubian Twists. “Oh, that reminds me! I have to reconfigure and reactivate my Mirkex profile.”  
“You do microchip dating?”  
“Mostly as a hobby. There’ll probably be more people within fifteen kilometers in the prison complex than Nowhere, FOP, though.”  
Ross exited her microchip software, looking slightly red. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your sexual orientation?”  
Hazael shrugged. “Labels are hard. As long as you’re not a man, you pass.” Hazael spritzed on a plethora of hairspray, determined to keep her updo that had taken so long in place. “What about you?”  
“I guess I never thought about it. My sister always used to say that I needed to find a rich husband, but I guess now that I don’t think I’m talking to her anymore--”  
“You're not talking to your sister?”  
“Not as of last night, no. And don’t you have a job to get to?”  
Hazael checked the time. “Shit. I have to go. Are you sure you don’t want to apply?”  
“I’m sure.”  
Hazael grabbed her bag, and ran out the door, calling a transporter as she went. “Bye, then! See you in twelve hours!”  
Ross waved, her hand lingering in the air a moment longer than it needed to. She sat down on the chair, unlocking Juniper from her crate. She was surprised at how quickly she had settled into domesticity, petting Juniper as she came to terms with her realization. Life was moving slow, and Ross was content for having this moment of peace.  
Just as Ross fed Juniper the scraps of what food in the apartment Ross guessed was safe for cats, the doorbell rang.  
“What now,” Ross inquired, brushing cat fur off her shoulders. Ross carefully unlocked the door as the person on the other side banged their fists in a blind rage. She opened the door, and Millie strode into Apartment 3251, tear lines visible on her cheeks.  
“Millie? What are you doing here?”  
“They’re coming for me.”  
“What? Who’s coming for you? Do you want coffee?”  
Millie grabbed Ross’ shoulders. “Are your walls plaster?”  
“Um, I think so. Hazael was able to hit a hole in one, so probably--”  
“Great. I need to hide in your walls.”  
“I’m sorry, but what?”  
“The FOP Prison Police are after me because I figured it out. Your apartment was closest. Also, do you have a knife?”  
“Wait, what did you figure out?” Ross handed Millie a knife.  
“Everything.” Millie held the knife up to her head. “You should probably look away.” Ross didn’t move. Millie took the short knife and stabbed her left eye, pulling it out in one fell swoop.  
“Did you practice that?”  
“Yes, actually.” Millie pulled out the microchip from her eye, and stuck her eyeball back into her head, where it looked admittedly looser than it had moments ago. “Do you have tape?”  
“You’re going to tape your eye to your head?”  
“Well, what else did you expect me to do? Hold it in my hand?”  
“I have no idea what the hell is going on, Millie.”  
“I’ll explain what’s going on when I make it out of this alive. Right now, I need you to take that microchip and throw it off the ledge as far as you can.”  
“Why?”  
“I’ll tell you when I’m not about to die!”  
“A microchip contains all of your memories, your hopes, your dreams--”  
“JUST FUCKING TAKE IT, ROSS.” Ross took the microchip. “I also need you to do one thing.”  
“Other than throwing evidence?”  
“You can’t let anybody into this apartment for as long as possible. That includes Hazael and Katrinci and anyone else you think you can trust.”  
“You mean, I can’t let my survivormate into her apartment for days?”  
“It’ll take them less than an hour to get in, and Hazael I'll be fine. Just go!”  
“Who?”  
“GO!”  
Ross sprinted out of the apartment, and threw the microchip into the chasm as far as she could. Just as she was about to run back inside, she saw three people easily double her size running at her. Ross quickly slammed the door from the outside, and went through the lock sequence.  
The people stopped in front of her, and the biggest one took their helmet off. “Is Amelidessa Roan on your property?”  
“No. I have not seen Millie since yesterday, at her apartment.”  
“Does she know where your apartment is?”  
“I’m not sure, but I haven’t told her. Hazael, my survivormate, may have.”  
“Amelidessa has been accused of attempting to blow up the Administrative ward of this prison. She is a convict who will be met with execution, as all second-time offenders.”  
“Millie is erratic sometimes.”  
“If you have any information on her, please do not hesitate to report it. If you hesitate to report information on Amelidessa, you will be placed into the doors of life and death again, and will most likely die. If you are aiding and abetting, or even harboring Amelidessa, you will have a lengthy public execution that will be far more painful than her own.”  
“Um, so I’ll die?”  
“Yes. You will die. And your death will be bloody and horrible.”  
“Hm. It’s too bad that I don’t know where the hell Millie is.”  
“You… Want to die?”  
“Why wouldn’t I want to die? Most of my family’s dead, the rest don’t talk to me, one of the only people I know in this place apparently just tried to kill a ton of people--what’s to like about life right now?”  
“I’ll never understand your generation. We need to do a full sweep of your apartment, even if you plead innocent.”  
“I’m afraid you can’t do that.”  
“Miss Sanchez, you are incorrect.”  
“You know my name? No one ever knows my name.” Ross ran her hand through her hair, and then stuck it out for the person. “I’m Ross Sanchez.”  
“Well, Ross, we need to search your apartment.”  
“You all should introduce yourselves. It’s only polite.”  
“Miss Sanchez, I don’t want to use force--”  
“And you don’t have to!” Hazael appeared on a transporter, eyes blue. “Here, I have a key, I can let you in.”  
“Haze, no.”  
“Why not? These Federation of Progress guards are just doing their jobs.”  
“It’s an illegal invasion of privacy.”  
Hazael tilted her head. “It is?” The main guard echoed the sentiment.  
“Yes! It’s in the FOP constitution. Amendment 43. ‘Thou shalt not intrude upon others personal space without proper qualifications.’”  
The security guard’s eyes glowed blue. “I’m reading the amendments to the constitution now, and I don’t see it.”  
“Well, it’s there. Your microchip is probably just glitching.”  
“What is wrong with you today? Why can’t you let these guys in? I mean, it’s not like you’re hiding anything.”  
“The law, remember!” Ross shouted feebly. “And Juniper, our cat, she’s allergic to humans, remember? New scents would send her into a crippling spiral of hives and clogged throats and choking.”  
“I’ve never heard of a human allergic to cats.”  
“Do I even know your name?”  
“That’s unnecessary information to your survival.”  
“Well, anyway, you can’t come in.”  
The security person chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s not up to you, lowly prisoner. I’ve humored you long enough, now it’s time to go inside.” They smirked. “And remember, if Amelidessa is inside, you will face public execution.”  
Hazael’s eyes flashed brown. “Execution?” Then, they were blue again. “I mean, of course. Execution is the only answer for such blatant disregard of the rules. Harboring a fugitive? Tsk, tsk. Truly dishonorable.”  
“Um, Hazael? Are you okay? You’re talking weird.”  
“Oh, I’ve never been better, Rosa-Maria.”  
“Hazael, you’re scaring me now.”  
“I don’t see what the problem is.”  
“I think I’m… Going to go inside. Without all of you.”  
“But… It’s my apartment, too!”  
“It’s Hazael’s, but it’s not whoever’s saying the things you are.”  
“Miss Sanchez--”  
“Ross.”  
“Ross, we will be forced to use violence if you don’t comply.”  
“So be it. You think that I can’t take you? You’re wrong.” Ross mentally unlocked the door.  
“Rosa--”  
“You’re not Hazael!” Ross ran into the apartment, locking and barricading the door as soon as she was inside.  
As soon as Ross had shut the door, people started yelling. Someone fired a round of lasebuls into the door. What sounded like a body got shoved against the door. Hazael screamed Milie and Ross’ names. Her screaming became muffled. A shoulder rammed into the door. Ross braced herself against the door frame, eyes squeezed shut, and breaths uneven.  
Suddenly, the door broke open. Ross opened her eyes. The security man pointed his lasebul shooter at her, as the other two sweeped the apartment. She didn’t see Millie anywhere, which was a relief. Hazael hovered a few feet outside the door, eyes normal, and expression clouded with worry. Ross forced a smile, and Hazael smiled back.  
“There’s no one here.” One of the security guards spoke to the one holding the weapon to Ross’ face.  
“Sweep it again. Millie’s microchip signal was last picked up here.” Ross looked to where the pool of blood following Millie’s microchip removal had been, and, thankfully, there was nothing there. The man nodded, and went into Ross’ room.  
Ross sank to the floor, head in hands.  
“There’s really nothing here, Sir.”  
“Fine. It’s only one prisoner, anyway.”  
Ross heard footsteps, and then silence. A hand lightly touched her arm, and she flinched.  
“It’s me, Hazael.”  
Ross looked up. “Is it really you, though?”  
“It’s me, Ross. I’m not sure how to prove that to you.”  
“You called me Ross.”  
“Is that not your name?”  
“It is… My name. Thank you.” Ross took Hazael’s offered hand and stood.  
“I’m sorry about the whole thing earlier, I’m not quite sure what happened. It was like… I was being controlled by something else.”  
“Don’t sweat it. How was your job?”  
Hazael’s eyes lit up, in the natural way. “It was so much fun! The guy who helped us yesterday, his name is Cian. He showed me around. They have tons of supplies to help us raise Juniper, and the animals--Shit.”  
“What?”  
“I have to go, Ross!” Hazael ran back out the door. “I still have to work, and I promised Cian--”  
The door had already shut.  
For the next three weeks, Ross scoured the apartment, first for signs of Millie, then to clean it. They had limited soap, but Federation of Progress taxpayers paid for all of their water, so Ross found an old rag and cleaned everything she could.  
Eventually, hours after Hazael had left for her shift at the pet store, when Ross was washing the walls for the twelfth time, she noticed a small hole in the plaster. In it was wedged a paper note, which was odd, as paper was extremely rare and mostly existed as a historical artifact. The note read “I found the way out. Tell Katrinci I love them. Tell Hazael to suck it. Tell Ruairi that it worked. - Millie,”  
As soon as Ross realized that the note was enough evidence to have her executed, she tucked it into her undergarment strap and called a transporter.  
Katrinci opened the door on Ross’ first knock.  
“Where’s Millie?”  
CHAPTER something  
Ross handed Katrinci the note.  
“She found the way out? There’s a way out?”  
Ross shrugged. “I guess.”  
“We need to go to Ruairi, now.”  
“That’s actually one of the reasons I came by here. I don’t actually know who Ruairi--” A transporter hit Ross’ ankles, and she fell backwards onto the hard metal. Katrinci stepped in after her. As soon as both of Katrinci’s feet were on the platform, the transporter sped off, at the fastest speed Ross had ever gone. The vehicle stopped only after going down three levels and traveling, by Ross’ guess, several miles. Katrinci jumped off with a running start in front of a door marked ‘Security’ and banged on the door until a person came out.  
“Katrinci!”  
“I need to speak with Ruairi.”  
“Ruairi’s busy.”  
“I need to speak with Ruairi now.”  
“Fine.” The person went back into the room, and came back out with a person wearing a turban. Their face paled when they saw Katrinci.  
“Ruairi, Ross and I need to speak with you in private.”  
“There is no privacy in this prison.”  
“Dammit, Ruairi, we need to talk with you now. Will my private apartment suffice?”  
“I’ll go with you.”  
“I’m Ross. I use she/her pronouns.”  
“Ruairi. He/Him.”  
“Cool.”  
For four minutes, Ruairi, Ross and Katrinci rode in silence. Ruairi stood in the corner farthest from Katrinci, face pale. Katrinci stewed next to Ross, teeth gritting. Ross tried to look less confused than she was.  
After what felt like forever, the trio arrived at Apartment 3007. Katrinci ushered Ross and Ruairi in, and then locked the door. They whipped out the note and shoved it under Ruairi’s nose.  
“What is this?” Katrinici’s voice shook. “Where is she?”  
“Where’s who?”  
“Millie! Millie’s gone, and the note that she left Ross says that you knew about it.”  
Ruairi shrugged. “Consider it a senior moment, but I don’t know where Millie is.”  
“You’re barely sixty, and you’re lying. Tell me exactly where she is.”  
“I want to know, too.” Ross piped up.  
“There’s no need to point out my age, especially since you’re wrong about what it is. I would tell you about your little girlfriend if I knew about any plans to escape, but I don’t. Case closed.”  
Katrinci’s facade crumbled, and their shoulders shook.  
“Pardon me, Ruairi… But we didn’t mention Millie escaping.” Ross failed to hide a smile. “Katrinci just mentioned that she ‘left.’ That could mean any number of things.”  
Ruairi sighed. “I suppose I should tell you what I know.”  
Katrinci straightened. “I suppose you should, old man.”  
“Millie felt the system was inhumane. She thought that we should be able to come and go as we pleased. After all, most of us are in here for things like speeding and littering.”  
Ross stepped forward. “Wait, really? Most people are in here for basically harmless crimes, and I manage to make friends with all of the murderers?”  
“I’m here for pirating music when I was thirteen, and you’re friends with me.”  
“I’m not ‘friends’ with you, Katrinci. We’re reluctant allies.”  
“Says the assassin.”  
“How’d you know that?”  
“Everybody knows what the new prisoners did. Their faces are plastered on billboards along with their crimes in and around the facility.”  
“Seriously?”  
“You haven’t noticed?”  
Ruairi cleared his throat. “What happened with Millie?”  
“That’s what we’re asking you.” Ross leaned against the wall, eyes narrowing. “Several weeks ago, Millie came crashing into my apartment, saying nonsensical things. She forcibly removed her microchip with a knife. She asked me about the walls, and then told me to go outside and stop anyone and everyone from going in at all costs. I did, for as long as I could, and when the security people barged in, they couldn’t find Millie. After looking everywhere, I found the note and went straight to Katrinci.”  
Katrinci grimaced. “Her note explicitly mentions you.”  
“Millie wanted to leave. She needed to. She thought that the reality of here, and the world, was fabricated.”  
“The truth, Ruairi. What was her little escape plan?”  
“It wasn’t supposed to happen for five more weeks. We were going to bring you, Katrinci, clue you in within a week of the day she went missing.”  
Katrinci staggered back, bracing themself against the wall. “So she did want me there…”  
Ross snapped her hands in front of Katrinci’s face. “Katrinci! Focus. What exactly was the plan?”  
“When Millie was ten and eleven, she worked at a non renewable resources facility plant. I think Hazael also worked there, though Millie never referred to her by name. They found and sorted non renewable materials, into piles that could be reused, and those that would be fuel. When Hazael and Millie worked there, they had this supervisor, named Sulien. Sulien would always give them a history lesson about whatever resource they happened to be sorting that day. One of the resources was plaster.  
“According to Sulien, plaster was a non reusable building material used in most construction projects until just under thirty years ago. Well, forty years ago now. Buildings built with plaster usually used plaster as a paintable layer that could conceal insulation. It was also remarkably easy to break. Most buildings constructed with plaster left 4-inch to 2-feet gaps between the plaster and cinder blocks, or whatever reliable building brick was used in the main construction of the building.  
“Did you two know that this prison used to be a shopping mall?” Ross and Katrinci shook their heads. “Well, not a mall. A supermall. They were malls with thousands of apartments directly above them, but isolated from big cities like normal malls. Hundreds of them were made. However, nobody except mall employees, who were offered free rent, wanted to live in the apartments. Eventually, the government bought them, and when the Uprising happened, the supermalls were handed over to the governments of the new countries. The Federation of Progress decided to make theirs into prisons.”  
“How does all of this relate to Millie being gone?”  
“Well, remember when I said that people stopped using plaster in buildings only forty years ago?” Ross and Katrinci nodded. “The Uprising happened forty-seven years ago. This building… Is made out of plaster.”  
“But what does plaster have to do with anything?”  
Ruairi punched the wall. After the dust had cleared, Ross realized that there was a fist-sized hole in what Ross guessed was plaster. In the space between the plaster and cinder block, a mess of wires and insulation.  
“Millie and I were perfecting the way to cut and seal a hole in the plaster, without there being any evidence of tampering. Only a hundred years ago, people had mastered the art of patching and repairing plaster. Only a hundred years ago, and it’s already been lost to history. But something must have happened. Millie must have gotten found out. They must have found her close to your apartment, Ross, and--”  
Ross’ eyes lit up. “She escaped through the plaster.”  
“That was the plan, at least.”  
Katrinci tried to smile. “Was there ever any plan to come back?”  
“No.”  
“I… I need to take a walk.” Katrinci walked out of the apartment, a stagger to their step that wasn’t there before.  
Ross grimaced. “So, you two weren’t coming back… Ever?”  
“No. The entire point was to escape.”  
“Thanks. You can go back to wherever you were earlier. I need to catch up with Katrinci.” Ross ran out of the apartment, and found Katrinci feet away from the door, leaning against the wall with tears unabashedly flowing.  
“Hey.”  
“Do you think she’s coming back?”  
“I don’t know.” Ross sighed. “I hope so. But I don’t know.”  
“Goddamn. I only knew her for ten months, and we were in love. But I didn’t really know her. Nobody here really knows her. I have no idea whether she’s coming back or even got out.”  
“I’m sorry.” Katrinci nodded. “I want to help.”  
Katrinci raised their head. “Help me with what?”  
“Finding Millie. Reuniting you too. Escaping, but if we do that, Hazael and I go with.”  
“But… Millie…”  
“Snap out of it, Katrinci! She’s not going to magically appear just because you want her to. We need to find her, and, if possible, join her.”  
Katrinci stared at Ross with a steely gaze. “Fine. But we’ll need help.”  
CHAPTERmaybe 30  
“Hi, Hazael--What happened to you?” Ross sat on the backrest of the couch, staring in awe at a ragged Hazael. Hazael’s hair that took so long to perfect laid in limp, hasty braids. Her face was smudged with some sort of hot pink paste. Her Federation of Progress-branded uniform had been stained an ugly green color.  
“Working is hard.” Hazael shrugged. “Any luck? With bounty hunter training, or the whole Millie thing--”  
“About that. I kind of need your help. How much do you know about plaster?”  
Xx  
“We’re not doing anything until tomorrow.”  
“Tomorrow? Millie could be dead tomorrow. Katrinci could be dead by tomorrow. You could be dead by tomorrow for aiding and abetting an escapee. I have to work tomorrow--”  
“I’m sure we can plan a mass prison break around your work schedule.”  
“No, Ross. I’m being serious. We need to do this as soon as possible.”  
“You think I don’t know that? Katrinci and Ruairi are planning exactly what we’re going to do. They told me to take the night off, and--” Hazael stood.  
“I’m going.”  
“You, too. They… Don’t want either of us there.”  
“Why not?”  
“No offense, but I don’t think Katrinci trusts you that much. And he doesn’t think that I’m telling them everything. So they’ll tell us tomorrow.”  
“I really just… Need to be there.”  
“I know. Me too. But we have to stay here, okay? Watch a movie, play a game, etcetera.”  
“I think I’m going to go to take a walk.”  
“Fair enough.” Ross went into the kitchen, and poured herself a mug of coffee.  
Sipping slowly, she examined the wall on which she’d found the note. It looked the same as every other section of the wall, other than the small indentation she’d pulled the note from. Ross decided that tomorrow, she would paint the walls. It would be good for her to cover up everything.  
Absentmindedly, Ross stirred her coffee, exhaling on the window. She let herself relax, so much so that when the three security guards from before broke down the door, grabbed her from behind, and dragged her out of her apartment, Ross didn’t resist.  
CHAPTER 36  
When she woke up, Ross found herself at her childhood kitchen, sitting at the head of the table.  
A man walked in, with tinted goggles and long, brown hair. “Hello, Rosa-Maria.” His voice echoed, its message playing over and over again in Ross’ mind.  
“Who are you?”  
The man took off his goggles, and Ross gasped. “It’s your father, Rosa. Do you not recognize me?”  
“¡Papá lo siento! It 's been so long.”  
“Your Spanish needs improvement, Rosa. Are you still taking lessons?”  
“No. I stopped them after you died.”  
“I… Am dead? Me has ofendido con tu insolencia.”  
“I’m sorry, but you are. You died… Almost thirteen years ago. You and Mama and Kala. In a car crash.”  
“Nonsense. Go to your room.”  
“I’m almost twenty, Papá. I don’t live here anymore. Electa and I haven’t for a long time.”  
“Who is this ‘Electa’ you speak of?”  
“Oh. Right. You knew her as Javier. But when she was eleven, two years after you died--”  
“I am alive.”  
“Right, obviously.”  
“Tu insolencia es espantosa.”  
“Sorry, Papá. But anyway, since I last saw you, Electa came out as transgender.”  
“No.”  
“Yes. Electa is transgender.”  
“My little boy would never disrespect me like that.”  
“Electa’s not your ‘little boy’ anymore, Papá. She’s twenty-one, and living her best life. Or, she was…”  
“Javier’s hurt? Dead?”  
“Not Javier. Electa. And… Yeah. I thought she would be with you, but you’re… Here.”  
“My son is dead?”  
“Daughter.”  
“May he--or it, rest in Hell.”  
“Goddamn, Papá. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Tears streamed down Ross’ cheeks. “I haven’t seen you in more than half of my lifetime, and this is what you say? Yeah, I’m glad I left this bullshit family. See you never, Dad.”  
“Do not address me so disrespectfully--”  
“Fuck you.” Ross walked over to the silverware drawer. Looking at where she guessed the cameras lay, Ross spoke.“I know this isn’t real. Whoever’s in charge of this, you got sloppy.” She pulled out a long steak knife, and plunged it straight into her heart.  
When Ross woke up the second time, she was blinded by fluorescent lights. Her hands and ankles were bound with laser cuffs, and she was gagged with a rag.  
“Clever. But not clever enough.” Ross couldn’t see whomever was speaking, though they spoke in a lilting baritone and were about five feet behind her. “You see, Rosa-Maria--and I know you prefer Ross--I am not like anyone else in this facility. I am the Keeper. I am the one who watches you through your microchips. We know you’re hiding something, not just from us, but from your little friends. Of course, I know all about Amellidessa. I know about Ruairi, and Katrinci, and especially Hazael. I know you don’t want them to die. Hell, I’ll even give Hazael a raise.” The man paused. “But only if you do exactly as I say.”  
He lifted the gag from Ross’ mouth, and she realized that they were alone. “First of all, go fucking--” The man walked around within Ross’ eyesight, and she gasped. “You’re not a man.”  
The cyborg chuckled. “I am. My brain is the one I was born with. Everything else is an improvement.”  
“Fuck off--”  
“Refuse my offer, and your friends die.” The cyborg waved his hand, and suddenly Ross was able to see through Katrinci, Hazael, and Ruairi’s microchips. Each’s vision was clouded by the barrel of a gun.  
“Fine.” Ross took a deep breath. “What’s your offer?”  
“You must know that your crimes more than warrant a public execution.”  
“Indeed.”  
“This will happen. You will go senile, and kill yourself in front of as many people as possible. If all of your friends aren’t within 20 feet of you when you die, I will detonate the bomb--the one placed in every inmate’s microchip with the prison update--in every prisoner here.” The man laughed. “And make sure Hazael’s holding onto you somehow. Hazael holding onto you, friends close, large crowd, kill yourself. Or everyone dies. Simple. You have one week to… just kill yourself like your dear sister did.”  
“My sister…” Ross’ eyes glazed over.  
“Yes. Allow yourself to give up. Forfeit. Surrender. Just like Electa.” The cyborg grinned. “You’ll join her.”  
“I can join Electa, Kala, Mom… And Dad.”  
“The person you most fear is your late father? How interesting.”  
“I don’t fear my father.”  
“You said his name like you do.”  
“It’s… None of your business. All I have to do is kill myself? That’s really not too bad.”  
“I’m glad that you are being helpful towards us staffed within the Federation of Progress Prison System. You will be sedated, and escorted back to your living situation. And don’t even think about taking out your microchip. We’ve set it so that the entire place will blow if you as much as pluck your eye out to clean it.”  
“Okay.”  
“Just…. ‘Okay’?”  
“Just okay.”  
“Goodbye, Rosa-Maria. May we never meet again.”  
CHAPTER whatever  
When Ross woke up for the third time, she was in her apartment, lying on the couch, washcloth on her forehead. Hazael stood over her, eyes clouded with worry.  
“Where were you?”  
“Taking a walk.”  
“For three days?”  
“Yes.”  
“Fine, don’t tell me.” Hazael started to walk away. “Your eyes look really pretty today, by the way.”  
“This is a weird question, but… What color are they?”  
“Brown.” Hazael turned around. “It is a weird question. Why?”  
“Oh, nothing. What happened with Operation Millie?”  
“Thought you’d never ask. We’ve been distributing pamphlets to everyone on this floor, and we’re going to break out through the plaster a week from tomorrow.”  
“That’s… Great.”  
“Do you still want to do it?”  
“Yes! I want to do it, just… When I was on my walk, it was brought to my attention that death might be more imminent than I previously thought.”  
“Um. What?”  
“Nevermind. I was actually wondering if you think it’s a good idea for me to go into the dating pool.”  
“You want to date someone?”  
“Yeah. I think I do.” Ross forced a smile. “Live while I can, y’know.”  
“That’s great, Ross!” Hazael’s eyes lit up. “Can I help you make your profile?”  
Ross grinned. “Of course. Let me grab paper and a notebook to write down ideas.”  
“You have paper?”  
Ross didn’t respond, grabbing a scrap of paper and walking over to the table. Ross and Hazael sat. Ross leaned over, and covered Hazael’s right eye and shut both of her own.  
“What are you--”  
Ross started writing. “Pretend I’m making out with you.” Hazael looked at her questioningly, then obliged. “I was taken by the security people. I have to kill myself in 1 week or less, with you holding onto my arm, and Katrinci and Ruairi near. If I don’t, everyone with the prison update dies. They know about Operation Millie. They watch us through our microchips. Millie’s alive.” Ross watched Hazael take everything in, and then flipped the paper over, jotting down a sloppy list of online dating tips. Slowly, Ross uncovered Hazael’s eyes and opened her own.  
“So that just happened.” Hazael’s face was pale.  
“Yeah, um, sorry. I should have asked first.”  
“Do you want to date me, Ross?”  
“I don’t… I don’t know.”  
“I’m going to go for a walk.”  
Ross put her head in her hands, pretending to cry silently while slowly tucking the note into her bra. Calmly, Ross walked into her room.  
Sitting on the bed, she selected the “Calls” button. Fourteen missed calls from her siblings. Taking a deep breath, Ross selected the ‘call back’ button. Clea picked up immediately.  
“This is where you’re living now?”  
“Hello to you too, Clea.”  
“ASH! ARIKEN! Ross is here!”  
Ariken popped into the frame, his shock of red hair standing straight up. “Hi Aunt Ross!”  
Ross smiled. “Hey, Ariken.”  
A sound from far off made everyone jump. “FUCK OFF, ROSS.”  
“FUCK YOU TOO, ASH!”  
Clea crossed her arms. “Enough pleasantries. What do you want?”  
“What if I just want to talk to my siblings?”  
“If I wasn’t sure before, I was now. I raised you, remember? What do you want, Ross?”  
Ross took a deep breath. “I want to say goodbye.”  
Ash stood in the back of the little room, face shrouded by shadow. “No. You aren’t saying goodbye. Not a month since we lost Electa.”  
“It’s come to my attention… That my lifespan might be shorter than previously thought.”  
“Wait, Auntie Ross?”  
“Yes, Ari?”  
“Are you in a Federation of Progress prison? Those were the same kinds of rooms we had to look through at school.”  
Ross didn’t answer.  
“Answer your nephew.” Clea demanded.  
Ash stepped forward, and Ross could see how bloodshot his eyes were. “Ross not answering is more than enough.”  
“How did Electa die, Ross?”  
“Are you in a FOP prison?”  
“Do you have a survivormate?”  
A knocking on Ross’ physical door silenced them. “Ross! We need to go!” Hazael sounded distressed.  
“I have to go, guys. Love you.”  
“Ross!”  
Ross slammed the ‘End Call’ button, and found herself back in her physical room. She opened the door, and Hazael came rushing in.  
“Haze, what’s going on?”  
Hazael dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me?” She held out a ring in a ring box obviously cobbled together from cardboard.  
“Hazael, what the actual fu--” Hazael kicked Ross, just out of her line of vision. Instantly, Ross’ demeanor changed. “You mean it? You actually want to marry me?”  
Lines of tears fell down Hazael’s cheeks, too neat to be real. “Yes, Rosa-Maria Sanchez. I want to marry you.”  
Engraved on the ring were the words “trust me.” Ross took it and slid it onto her finger.  
“Well, I guess we’re engaged.”  
“Yay!” Hazael clapped her hands together, joy  
“This is… Unprecedented. Is there a reason, other than undying love for me,” Ross smirked. “That you’ve chosen to do this now?”  
“I talked to Katrinci. Apparently there’s a clause in the prison code that allows prisoners early leave if they marry.”  
“So your intentions were selfish?”  
“Maybe. I’ve also been crushing on you, for, like, a long time.” Ross rolled her eyes. “I’m serious!”  
“Anyway--did you know that Katrinci is a lawyer? I had no idea until I asked them for advice and they recited obscure laws word-for-word.”  
“I didn’t, actually.”  
“Well, Katrinci said that with our good records, we could leave in as early as 3 days, if we pledge community service to the FOP for a few years.”  
“Three days? Let’s get married, Hazael Beatus.”  
Xxx  
CHAPTER whatever  
“I now pronounce you… Married.”  
“Shit, wedding vows.”  
“Pardon me, Mrs. Sanchez, but you’re getting married in a sweatshirt and pajama pants. You also just swore in a place of worship. Is this wedding something that you care enough about to perform wedding vows?”  
“Pardon me, Mr. Elia Rae impersonator, but prison casinos aren’t a place of worship. And I care about this wedding more than you’ll ever know. That being said, Hazael, you can say your vows first.”  
Katrinci piped up from the back. “Actually, vows aren’t legally required.”  
“Katrinci, you’re a witness, not a lawyer.”  
“I still have my job, actually--”  
Hazael interjected. “Vows! Um… Ross, I really like you.”  
“Aren’t you supposed to love someone to marry them?”  
“Katrinci, shut up, let Hazael talk.”  
“Do I get to give my opinion, too?”  
“No, Cian.”  
“Actually--”  
“If you say actually one more time I will. Rip. Your. Eyes. Out.”  
“Why not my mouth?”  
“Shut up.” The two witnesses, officiant, and Ross turned to Hazael.  
“Um, your eyes are really pretty, like galaxies, and you know medical stuff? And you saved my life.”  
“Mrs. Sanchez?”  
“The ‘Mrs’ is bothering me. I really like you too, Hazael, first off. Secondly, your eyes are also really pretty, like tiny universes--”  
“Be original, Ross!”  
“Okay, fine. I like you because you’re smart and care about people and also have way more money than me. I think you saved my life too.”  
“Thanks.”  
Ross glared at the officiant. “What? You’re already married.”  
“Oh, right.” Ross held the certificate of marriage up to the light. “Being married feels weird.”  
“How much money do we owe you?” Ross opened up her virtual wallet, addressing the Elia Rae impersonator.  
“Seventy-two.”  
“Oddly specific.”  
“Enough to get blackout drunk.”  
“Fair enough.”  
Ross walked over to Hazael. “Does this mean that I have to take my name out of the dating pool?”  
Hazael rolled her eyes. “Unless you want to cheat on me less than an hour into our marriage, yes. And a faithful and generally uncomplicated marriage will probably make us more eligible, faster.  
“Ugh, fine.” Ross’ eyes lit up as she deleted her dating profile, dragging the process out for as long as she could.  
Xxxx  
Hazael and Ross walked back into their apartment, Ross holding a newly inked marriage certificate.  
“Isn’t it odd that people still use paper for things like marriage certificates? Or just like that the government tells people that paper is such a valuable resource, and then goes and hands out paper to anyone who wants to get married.”  
“Most people get married for good reasons, Ross.”  
“You mean having a really short prison sentence isn’t a good reason?”  
“It’s not just really short.” Hazael stopped in place for a minute, murmuring under her breath. “It’s roughly seven percent of what our prison sentence was supposed to be. And I think that belonging to someone else isn’t so bad when they belong to you, too.”  
“Ignoring the philosophical crap, why don’t you just do math with the calculator in your microchip like everyone else?”  
“I use the one in my microchip for work, but I like to keep my brain sharp.”  
“I didn’t know that I married such a nerd.”  
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Ross Sanchez.”  
“It’s Mrs. Sanchez-Beatus now, remember?”  
“Oh, right.”  
“And you didn’t bother to hyphenate your name and you made me look like an idiot.”  
“Since when do you only look like an idiot?”  
“Very funny.” Ross pushed open the door. “What happened to my room?”  
Hazael looked over Ross’s shoulder. “Why is there only one door?”  
Someone tapped Ross on the shoulder. Katrinci stood in front of them, holding a slightly smashed fruitcake. “I heard you two decided to tie the knot, so I brought food.” Katrinci stepped back, surveying Ross and Hazael. “You look good together. Odd, but good.”  
“Do you know why there’s only one door now?”  
“It’s because you’re married. The bots that man the place change the bedroom configuration in an apartment whenever two survivormates get married to each other. There’s only one room now. One bed, one nightstand, one bookshelf--except everything’s bigger. Multiplied by 150 percent. Honestly, it’s one of the reasons Millie and I never did it. I like my stuff the way it is.”  
Ross choked out a laugh. “One bed?”  
“Well, you wouldn’t be getting married for non-romantic or non-reproductive reasons, correct?” Katrinci raised an eyebrow. “Especially not for reasons like that early leave for married survivormates clause that I told you about the other day?”  
“Of course not.”  
“We would never.”  
“Make out with each other.” Ross glared at Katrinci, who grinned in response.  
“Fine.” The other two stared at Hazael.  
“Fine. We are married, after all.”  
Hazael leaned down and cupped Ross’s face in her hands. Instinctively closing her eyes, Ross leaned to the right. Lightly, Hazael’s lips brushed Ross’s, lingering for a second longer than they had to. They pulled away, both red in the cheeks.  
Katrinci rolled their eyes. “That was boring. No passion. So innocent. My grandma could have done better.”  
“You know that we don’t actually have to prove anything to you, right?”  
“Fine. Be boring prudes. See if I care.” With that, Katrinci turned away.  
“Katrinci’s so annoying sometimes.” Ross rolled her eyes and walked into the apartment. Hazael followed, trailing behind. “They didn’t even give us the stupid fruitcake. Was it even a fruitcake? It looked like they shot it full of holes, and then tried to pass it off as food.” Ross poured herself a glass of water. “Haze? You okay?”  
Hazael was silent. Ross walked over to where she stood, barely beyond the doorway. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”  
“It’s all good--”  
“And I’m sorry for kissing you badly.”  
“What? Haze, you didn’t kiss me badly. Don’t let that prick get into your head.”  
“Still. I’m sorry.”  
“You don’t have anything to apologize to me for, Hazael.”  
“Thanks.”  
“Is there anything that would make you feel better?”  
Hazael smirked. “Are you sure you’re the same Ross from four weeks ago? The one who made me stab her with a fork?”  
“I did do that, didn’t I?”  
“You sure did. And a glass of water would help.” Hazael’s smile softened.  
Ross poured glasses of water for herself and Hazael. Without turning around, she spoke. “So. What are we going to do about the one bed thing?”  
“[rock paper scissors equivalent] for the couch?”  
“Sure.”  
“Are you sure? What about your nightmares?”  
Ross shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”  
“If you say so.” Hazael drank her water. “Anyway, what should we do to celebrate being married?”  
“What do people normally do? We can start there.” Ross sipped from her glass.  
“Fuck.”  
Ross spit out her water. Coughing, she poised herself. “Right. Yes. No need to do that.”  
“Are we not madly in love?”  
“Obviously we’re madly in love. But I’m asexual.”  
“But not aromantic?”  
Ross shrugged. “I kissed you earlier, did I not?”  
“Fair point.”  
“Didn’t people used to go on extended vacations to celebrate being married, too? Before the economic crash?”  
“Yeah. They were called sugarasteroids or something. Want to do that?”  
“Where would we go?”  
“The couch, unless your extracurricular vlog gains about fifty thousand more subscribers and a shit ton more money.”  
“I was training and looking for clues for the whole Millie thing, remember?”  
“You did pay for the marriage certificate.”  
“And dinner all of last week.”  
“...And that couch has my name on it.” Hazael put down her water and flopped onto the couch. “You coming?”  
“Shit.”  
“What?”  
“It’s been six days since… My walk.”  
The floor seemed to spin underneath Hazael, but she put on a brave face. “Your walk? That lasted 3 days?”  
“Yeah.”  
Hazael forced a grin. “We may have to delay our honeymoon, and my appointment with the couch. I just remembered that I needed to go to the store.”  
“Do we not have food or something?” Ross opened the pantry doors. “Oh. We actually don’t have food.”  
“So, unless you don’t want to eat chips when we binge watch old vlogs of famous people, I need to go to the store.” Hazael stood, and surveyed the bare cabinets. “Also, it would really help me if you got something I need from Katrinci.”  
“What is it?”  
“You’ll see.”  
Hazael and Ross summoned transporters, and both went on their ways. Ross arrived at Katrinci’s door, confused as to why she needed to come here. She knocked three times before Katrinci came to the door, looking stressed.  
“Hazael said that I need to get something from you.”  
Katrinci took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ross.”  
“Sorry for what--” but then the world was black.  
CHAPTER somethin  
When Ross came to, she was blindfolded and tied to a chair. “I got kidnapped again?”  
An easily recognizable voice penetrated the darkness. “You’ve been kidnapped before?”  
Ross groaned. “Why did you kidnap me, Katrinci?”  
Another voice, even more familiar, rang out. “It was me, actually.”  
“Why did you kidnap me, Hazael?”  
“It’s a surprise.”  
“Are you going to kill me? There’s many better ways to do that.”  
“The opposite, actually.”  
“Well, what in the everloving fuck does that mean?”  
“You’ll see.”  
“Did you… Forget about the blindfold you put on my face?”  
“Actually, I did.” Hands removed the blindfold from around Ross’ eyes, and she was  
facing a wall.  
“You’re behind me, aren’t you?”  
Katrinci mumbled, “Well, it’s not like we’re invisible.”  
“What are you doing that I can’t see?”  
“Be patient, Ross.”  
“You just kidnapped me, I can’t ‘be patient.’”  
“Trust me, then.”  
Ross sighed. “Fine. But I don’t trust Katrinci.”  
“Hey!”  
“Deal with it.”  
“It’s ready, Katrinci.”  
“Thanks, Ruairi.”  
“Ruairi? You’re here, too?”  
“Yes.”  
“What. Is. Going. On?”  
“Patience, Ross.”  
Someone shouted in the distance, a voice Ross didn’t recognize. “There they are!”  
Hazael was suddenly right behind Ross. “Fuck. Don’t say anything.”  
Ross nodded.  
“How much longer, Ruairi?”  
“How much longer on what?”  
“Less than a minute.”  
“I can work with that.” Katrinci started running towards the yell, footsteps receding.  
A beat passed, then another. “Where’s Katrinci?”  
“I wish I knew, Ross. I wish I knew.”  
“It’s ready.”  
“Alright, Ross, I need to do something that you’ll hate, and that you need to not scream for.”  
“I’m not two.”  
Hazael exhaled. “Five, four, three, two--” Hazael ripped Ross’ microchip-encoded eye from her modified eye socket, and threw it as far away as possible.  
Slowly, Hazael walked around to the front of Ross’ chair, with her hands up. Her face had a long cut running down the side, and the eye socket which had stored her microchipped eye laid empty. “Are you okay?”  
“Where am I?”  
Hazael leaned down to undo Ross’ restraints. “The northernmost wall of the prison. It’s where the barricades are thinnest, and leads to an unpopulated forest. On my shopping trip, I got materials for a bomb and food and water for a week.”  
“Who, exactly is here, and what are they doing?”  
“Ruairi worked in security, remember? He disabled the security cameras in this area, and switched off the microchips of everyone in the prison. Nobody can communicate with each other. Katrinci was to knock you out and transport you, which obviously they did. They were also our first line of defense. I’m the second.”  
“I assume I’m the third?”  
“No. You were knocked out for an hour, you’ll be lucky if you can stand. You can’t fight. Your job is to diffuse the bomb and escape, no matter what. Preferably, Ruairi, Katrinci and I will be there, too.”  
“This could kill you.”  
“There are many things worse in this life than death.”  
Ross tried to stand, and found herself falling back into the chair. “How do I activate the bomb?”  
Hazael exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been keeping. “Giant red button in the middle. Press it, and the bomb will detonate five seconds later. Try to wait for everyone, but if they attack you, press it and take cover with the bags under your seat. Those have the food. Then jump through the hole and leave.” A yell from far off diverted Hazael’s focus.  
“One last question. This is all my fault. You’re doing all of this for me. Why?”  
“I think you already know.” With one last piercing gaze, Hazael vanished from Ross’ peripheral vision.  
Ross turned around in her chair, despite the dizziness that occurred from any movement. Ruairi was nowhere to be found, but a big, shiny piece of equipment with a giant red button was in sight.  
Slowly, Ross stood up, leaning on the wall for support. She took a deep breath in, letting the sounds of the world fall away from under her. Ross crawled along the wall, beelining for the button. Noise and chaos surrounded her, but she soldiered on. Just as Ross was about to pick up the bomb, someone shoved her, straight  
Into  
The  
Red  
Button.  
Chapter Something (at least 30)  
For a moment too long, Ross froze on top of the bomb, mouth agape in horror.  
The bomb chirped. “Detonation in five seconds.”  
Someone yelled out, “Take cover!”  
“Detonation in four seconds.”  
Hazael muscled her way to the front of the crowd, covered in scratches. “Ross! Throw it towards the wall!”  
Slowly, Ross stood. “Detonation in three seconds.”  
She leaned down, and picked up the bomb, struggling to keep her balance.“Detonation in two seconds.”  
Ross faced the wall, legs squared, prepared to throw the bomb.  
“Detonation in one second.”  
With all of her strength, Ross threw the bomb towards the wall. She threw herself towards the growing crowd, hands protective over her neck.  
Then, a shit ton of things happened at once. A squadron of bulky soldiers in bulletproof  
vests opened fire on everyone with a [machine gun equivalent]. The bomb went off midair, which sent almost all of the soldiers and most of the crowd to the ground, or with shrapnel injuries. Third, something--or someone-- fell on Ross’ head.  
Chapter oh shit  
Instinctively, Ross pried herself up from under this thing, and when she sat up, found a slightly bloody mess of bantu knots on a tall, gangly body. [well shit if that doesn’t sound creepy]  
“Hazael?” Ross flipped the person over so they could breathe, and sure enough, the person that had fallen on Ross was none other than her wife. “Shit! Hazael.” Ross put her finger to Hazael’s pulse, and while it was weak, it was there.  
Just then, one of the soldiers got up, several hundred feet away. “Rosa-Maria Sanchez! Surrender, and minimum punishment will be executed on everyone else. The rest of you, stay down!”  
Someone stood, blocking Ross’ view of the soldier. Ross noticed the person held an eye in their hand. “Never. If you take her, you take all of us.” Slowly, more people began to stand.  
The soldier stepped back. “I am prepared to fire. Stand down, civilians.”  
Katrinci tapped Ross on the shoulder, pointing towards the hole in the wall. “Go. We’ll follow.”  
“I can barely walk--”  
“Someone needs to go, or all of this will be for nothing. They’re sacrificing themselves for you, Ross.”  
“I can’t leave Hazael--”  
“She’ll die along with everyone else if you don’t take her.”  
“Everyone here… is going to die? Why can’t I surrender myself?”  
Katrinci grimaced. “They chose this, Ross. You have to get justice for them. For every  
prisoner in this system. Please.”  
“Did Hazael know about this resistance of yours?”  
“No. Ruairi and I organized it after Millie left.” The guard started firing, and Katrinci ducked. “You have to go. Find Millie. Hide out in some town, building resistance, until you can come back.” Then, Katrinci calmly walked back to the ranks of the resistance.  
Ross crouched over Hazael’s unconscious figure, trying to figure out how to transport her. Tears flowed freely down her face, the only relaxed part of her. “Haze. Hazael. I need you to wake up.” The air above them became thick with gunpowder. Bodies fell on all sides, and Ross knew that they would be next.  
Dizzily, Ross inched towards the hole in the wall, dragging Hazael along behind her. The wall had turned to ash at the explosion point, and disintegrated away when touched. By tapping the cinders repeatedly, Ross managed to carve a human-sized hole out in the wall for both her and Hazael.  
Ross stuck her hand through the hole, and felt her first breeze in months. The cold, dry  
pine-scented air wafted into the building, and Ross took a deep breath in. Somehow, the wind seemed to wake Hazael, and her eyes opened the slightest bit.  
Ross delicately thumbed away the rest of the crumbling wall, and found a lush forest only feet below them. Most of the prison had to be underground. Ross carefully dangled her legs over the edge of the wall, and she was less than ten feet from the ground. She could make it, but Hazael couldn’t without help.  
Ross pulled Hazael’s limp body close to her, supporting Hazael under her neck and knees with her arms. A shot hit alarmingly close to Hazael’s head, and Ross jumped.  
“Ross…?”  
“It’s okay, Haze. We’re okay. I’m going to jump now, okay?”  
Hazael nodded, and it seemed like she struggled to do even that.  
Ross stole one last glance behind her, and then pushed herself as far away from the battle behind her as she could. A second or two of freefall, cradling Hazael in her arms, and Ross hit the ground feet-first.  
Chapter somethin  
For several miles, Ross ran, hugging Hazael’s limp form to her chest. She was thankful for all her training, as it doubtlessly saved her life at this time. When Ross was completely out of energy, upper body and lower body strength, and a general will to press on, she stopped. By her count, they were just under five miles from the prison, five miles through tangled brush and thick forest. It wasn’t far enough, but it was fine for the moment.  
Ross carefully set Hazael down on a blanket of crinkly leaves, and Hazael’s eye flicked open. “Where am I?”  
“You’re safe. Go back to sleep.” Hazael happily obliged, and Ross felt a pressing guilt for  
the lie. Nonetheless, she quickly got to work assembling a basic shelter and digging up groundwater.  
By the time Ross was finished, a small covering, created from decaying tree branches and scraps of underbrush, was propped against a tree, just big enough to cover both Ross and Hazael from precipitation. A hole, about four feet deep, covered by a mesh of leaves and sticks, held about a quart of water. Ross had to hope it would be enough.  
Ross allowed herself a sip of water, and wondered what she would do now. She couldn’t leave Hazael here alone, but Ross needed to find food, and there was none in this clearing. Ross crouched over Hazael, and the sudden shadow made Hazael wake.  
“Hey.”  
“How long was I asleep? Am I late for work?”  
“We’re not in the prison anymore, Haze.” Ross picked up a leaf, and pressed it into Hazael’s hand. “We’re free.”  
Hazael tried to sit, and then fell back down. “I’m going to throw up.”  
Ross’ eyes lit up, and she almost started crying again. “Thank God. You probably just have a concussion, then.”  
“A concussion?”  
“You’ve been mostly unconscious since the bomb went off, about two hours ago.”  
In response, Hazael leaned off to the side and threw up.  
“You should stop throwing up within the hour.”  
Hazael wiped the puke off her face. “How do you know?”  
“I was in a pre-med program before… You know. My career became assassinating people with my sister.”  
Hazael threw up again. “Weirdly enough, I never really wondered what your life was like before you became a killer.”  
Ross laughed. “Probably not what you think.”  
“So tell me. I can’t really move, and I get the feeling that you can’t either until I can stand.”  
“Fine.” Ross laid down next to Hazael, staring up at the starless sky. “I’ll tell you about the week before I killed my first.”  
Chapter somethinG: Where we finally get Ross’ backstory  
“It was the coldest September in three decades. My first semester in University, at age sixteen. Just over three years ago. I had just left class, walking with my friend. I think her name was Delia, but I can’t be certain. She’s dead now.”  
“That was mildly dramatic.”  
“Just wanted to let you know that she wouldn’t run into me in prison.”  
“That’s fair.”  
“Anyway, we were leaving class, like we always did, comparing notes and coming up with study tactics--”  
“So you were a bashkemor.”  
“Yeah, but I dropped out.”  
“When?”  
“I’m getting to that part!” Ross waited a few seconds, and then continued on. “The university had a reputation for being very progressive, and so had many enemies.”  
“Wait. Did you go to Saint Marianer’s University? In the State of Acapulco?”  
“Yes.”  
“Wasn’t there a bombing there a few years back? Wiped out half the student population?”  
“Yes. Including Delia.”  
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry--that must have been shitty.”  
“Well, since you keep guessing parts of my story, I’ll tell you the quick version. That day, the bomb struck in the biggest dorm on campus. During one of the biggest annual parties of the year, in the common room.”  
“You weren’t there?”  
“I was studying. It saved my life.”  
“So, if you were so invested in school, why did you drop out?”  
“I knew who planted the bomb. His name was Grayson, and he was constantly partying.” Ross shrugged. “Turned out he was a sociopath who was getting to know the people involved in the party scene in order to kill them easier. Without remorse.”  
“You said ‘was.’”  
“Because I killed him.”  
“That… Took a turn.”  
“I made him confess, and I recorded it. Then, I distributed it and quickly suffocated him. My month of medical school paid off, and I was able to do it in less than five minutes.”  
“Delia… And everyone else… They must have meant a lot to you.” Ross nodded, and Hazael realized that she was silently crying. Hazael turned to face Ross, and clasped her hand. “Listen. You can’t change the past. Believe me, I wish I could.”  
“I didn’t have to kill him. The recording would have been enough. He would have gone to jail, real jail, in the State, not the doors like here.”  
“I know. But there’s no use thinking about what could have been, Ross.”  
Sniffling, Ross sadly smiled. “You know, you’re a pretty good therapist. You constantly save me from myself.”  
Hazael scoffed. “You just carried me however many miles away from the prison we are, made a shelter and produced water. That’s pretty damn awesome, Mrs. Sanchez-Beatus.”  
“Ah yes, our marriage.”  
“Did you forget?”  
“No.” Ross turned to face Hazael, and their eyes met. “I didn’t forget for a second.” Hazael blushed, and Ross grinned, falling back onto her back. “Why else would I have dragged you all the way out here?”  
“That wasn’t fair.”  
“I know. It was fun, though.”  
Hazael yawned. “As much as I love to be a source of entertainment to you, I’m pretty tired.”  
“You just slept for the past two hours, can you try to walk so we can find food?”  
“There is a difference between being mostly unconscious and sleeping, Ross.” Hazael exhaled. “But yes, I can walk. I think.”  
In the blink of an eye, Ross was standing over her, offering a hand down. “Need an arm?”  
“Please.” With Ross’ help, Hazael was able to stand, and, arm around Ross’ waist, was able to walk.  
“Now, do you know even the slightest thing about finding edible plants?”  
“So we’re fucked?”  
“Yep.”  
End of chapter x  
“How do you know how to build a shelter, find groundwater, and run really fast, but you don’t know whether the plant I’m holding is poison ivy or mint?”  
“I told you how to find out!”  
“You told me to eat it, Ross.”  
“I mean, if you die, then we’ll know it was neither.”  
“You mean you’ll know. Because I’ll be dead.”  
“Well, we’re almost back at the clearing, and we have about twelve plants that probably won’t kill us.”  
“Your confidence is reassuring.”  
“It’s one of my strengths.” Ross pushed back several branches with her free hand, and assisted Hazael over a branch. “Welcome home.” The clearing remained unchanged from before, and Ross sighed with relief.  
“How long are we going to stay here?”  
“Until dawn. We need to sleep, and eat, but then we need to get farther away, find a town.”  
“We can’t make a fire, right?”  
“No. They would see us instantly.”  
“So… We just have to rely on body heat?”  
Ross stopped mashing herbs between two rocks. “I don’t care what you’re implying, but yes. We do have to sleep next to each other.”  
“For heat reasons.”  
“Obviously.”  
“Even though we’re married.”  
“Heat reasons, and heat reasons only. Here’s your food.”  
“Thanks. Are you sure it’s not poisonous?”  
“That’s why I’m having you eat it first.” Ross smirked, and then both she and Hazael were laughing, almost crying at everything.  
“On three, okay? Three, two…” Ross and Hazael put the mess of green in their mouths, swallowing at the same time. They both paused a moment, waiting to see if any side effects would take hold.  
“Well, I’m not dead yet.”  
“Same.”  
“That tasted exceedingly gross.”  
“Drink some water.”  
“No. I’m too tired.” Hazael climbed under the makeshift roof, careful to leave enough space for Ross.  
Ross sighed. “If I could make a fire, I could boil these plants, and they might taste better.”  
“Even I know not to make a fire if you’re not trying to be found out.” Hazael smiled softly, patting the space next to her. “C’mon. We have to sleep now.”  
Ross exhaled. “‘Kay.” Awkwardly, she climbed under the shallow shelter, laying almost on top of Hazael. “Perhaps this isn’t big enough.”  
“Perhaps.”  
Ross started to sit up. “Am I elbowing you in the face? I can get up, move somewhere--”  
Hazael put an arm around Ross, pulling her down. “Not a chance. Body heat, remember? I’m perfectly fine, and I won’t be perfectly fine if it rains and you die of hypothermia or something, because you thought I was uncomfortable and you left this watertight shelter.”  
“I can’t guarantee it’ll be watertight--”  
“It’s more watertight than no shelter.”  
“Goodnight, then.”  
“Night, Ross.”  
Ross waited until Hazael’s breathing had slowed, and she wasn’t absentmindedly tapping her hand on the ground, to speak again. “I’m afraid, Haze. I’m afraid that all of those people died, for us. I’m afraid that whatever happened to you is far worse than a concussion, I’m worried a feral animal is going to eat us, I’m afraid that the plants we ate were poisonous, and most of all, I’m afraid of being with you like this, Haze.”  
“As you should be.” Ross jumped about a foot into the air, firmly planting her elbow in Hazael’s stomach. “Ow. You don’t have to be afraid of me, though. I mean, I know I'm super sexy--” Ross snorted. “With my hopefully-a-concussion and all, but I’m happy, even in… Less-desirable environments if you’re here with me.” Hazael paused.  
“Less-desirable environments? Me literally sleeping on top of you for heat--”  
“I like that part, actually--”  
“The very slim chances that we’ll survive the night--”  
“But then we’ll die together, at least--”  
“Emphasis on the dying part--”  
“The emphasis was on the together part, actually--”  
“Fine. You win. It worked.”  
“What worked?”  
“You made me feel better, and less afraid.”  
“Oh. That wasn’t really the goal, but I’ll take it.”  
Ross flipped herself over to stare straight into Hazael’s eyes, but it took far too many moments than Ross thought it would, and Hazael tried so hard not to laugh. Finally, laying on her stomach, half positioned on Hazael, the other half on a bed of leaves, Ross stared directly into Hazael’s eyes. “That was supposed to be dramatic. This works, though.” A beat passed. “So, Hazael… What was the goal?”  
“To increase the sexual tension in the atmosphere with positive reinforcement.” Hazael grinned. “To make you stop worrying so you start making out with me.”  
“I did all that to be hit on by my wife?”  
“Yep.”  
“I’ll take it.”  
“You will?”  
Ross straddled the sides of Hazael’s face with her hands, careful to not lose her balance. “I will.” Lightly, Ross pressed her lips against Hazael’s, barely parting her lips. Then, she pulled back, grinning like an idiot.  
Hazael stared back at Ross, a blank expression across her face.  
“Haze, are you okay? I’m sorry, I thought that’s what you wanted--”  
Hazael’s eyes focused on Ross. “Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”  
“I’m so sorry, there’s no excuse--”  
“Not you kissing me, dumbass.”  
“Oh. Really?”  
“I wanted that to happen. What I didn’t want to happen is to be reminded of my ex.”  
“Oh.”  
“She kissed me like that right before I had to kill her.”  
“Oh.”  
“I’m the one who has to be sorry, Ross, dragging the past into right now. How can I fix this?”  
Ross pretended to be lost in thought for a moment. “What if… You kissed me in a way that didn’t remind you of your ex?”  
Hazael’s eyes widened. “Really? You want that?” Ross nodded, almost giddily. “Then I can do that.”  
Hazael cupped both of her hands around Ross’s face, and pulled her close. The strength that Ross had been using to prop herself up was made obsolete, and she dropped her plank, allowing herself to fall completely onto Hazael, and what little self-restraint Hazael had crumbled.  
Hazael kissed Ross, and it was like nothing either had ever experienced before. Ross’s peripheral vision disappeared as she closed her eyes, [write kiss I gave up after 4 fuckin hours]  
Ross pulled away from Hazael, pausing before opening her eyes. “That was… Impressive.”  
“Was it?” Lazily, Hazael opened one of her eyes.  
Ross leaned down to whisper into Hazael’s ear. “Very impressive.” Hazael turned an unsightly shade of red, and Ross giggled.  
“You should probably stop playing with my feelings at some point and go to sleep.”  
“I know… It’s just so fun.”  
“Seriously, Ross.”  
“Ugh, fine.” Ross rolled over, and laid half on the leaves, half on her-roommate-turned-wife. “Sweet dreams.”  
Chapter idek anymore like 30 something  
Ross woke up just before dawn. She shook Hazael awake as soon as she realized what time it was, and the two took down all traces of their existence. Ross scattered the branches she had used as shelter all around the clearing, Hazael filled up the water-hole, and both worked to smudge out any footprints they had left. All of it would be useless against the smell-tracing bots, but both pretended to be more hopeful than they felt.  
Just as light from the sun began to cascade throughout the sky, Ross and Hazael left. They went to the South, only because the prison was to the North. For three days they walked to the South, almost completely silently.  
Then, on their fourth day away from the Federation of Progress Prison Number xx, Ross and Hazael came across a road. For days, they had been walking what they could only hope was South, but now, there was a definitive path, from something to something else. However, there was one problem.  
“It goes from East to West.” Ross stared at the road, arms crossed.  
“There could be a town, or a lake, or people around it.”  
“Or a Federation of Progress headquarters.”  
“We have to go on it.”  
“I know.” Ross groaned. “I don’t have to like it, though.”  
“We should go West. Millie and I’s hometown is to the West. She could have gone there.”  
“No. That’s the absolute worst place to go. There is no chance that Federation of Progress agents aren’t already there.”  
“Then where? I have no idea where else Millie could be.”  
“Let’s hope it’s somewhere East of here.” Ross jumped over the barrier that separated the forest from the road, and started walking East. Hazael followed, gingerly climbing over the barrier.  
“Do you know of anything East of here?”  
Ross shrugged. “Probably just forest. But if there’s a road, there must be something.”  
Suddenly, a figure moved out from behind a tree, several hundred feet away. “Hello, travelers. I believe the ‘something’ you’re looking for is me.”  
Ross immediately assumed a fight stance, a stick she’d whittled into a knife of sorts pointed at the man’s neck. Hazael stood behind Ross. “Who are you?” Ross snarled.  
“My name is Maddox.” The person walked towards them. “I am a curious man, who wonders.” Maddox smiled, and his teeth were blindingly white. “I mean you no harm.”  
Hazael stepped in front of Ross, hand out in greeting. “I’m Hazael. This is Ross.”  
Ross crossed in front of Hazael, knife still pointed at Maddox. “Where are we?”  
“You are on the Path of the Sun.”  
Hazael groaned. “The Path of the Sun? That goes around the entire world.”  
“Yes.”  
“So we’re in the middle of nowhere?”  
Maddox stepped closer, and Ross noted that she could easily attack him from this distance. “Not the middle of nowhere, dear Ross.” He glanced up at the trees surrounding them. “You may come forth.”  
Ross stood her ground. “We’re close enough--”  
“He wasn’t talking to us.” Hazael grabbed Ross’ arm, steadying her, as what seemed like an endless number of humans appeared on all sides of them. “Drop your stick.”  
The people surrounding them seemed to have nothing in common, they all wore different types of clothes, were of different ethnicities, and had varying expressions on their face. The only thing that these people had in common was being extremely in shape, and covered in bulging muscles. Maddox himself had cloaked himself in a long trench coat, but Ross was willing to bet that he was also in shape. They didn’t have a chance in battle. Ross dropped her stick.  
Maddox didn’t take his eyes off Ross and Hazael. “We are the Wenye Ujuzi. We offer you food, drink and shelter for three day’s time, in exchange for your memories.”  
“Excuse me?” Hazael exclaimed.  
“You will only lose your memories of the last six months, and only for however long you decide to stay. It will make you happier, I can guarantee. After three days, you may decide whether or not you would like to stay for longer.”  
“What happens if we refuse your offer?”  
“You will be forced to go to the West.”  
“What’s in the West?”  
“Hate.”  
“May we discuss it among ourselves?”  
“Of course.”  
Hazael turned to look at Ross. “What do you think? Memoryless for three days, in exchange for food, water, and shelter, or not have to deal with them but possibly deal with war?”  
“You got war from hate?”  
“Yes. There is civilization to the East and to the West, and the only reason that one would think one was exponentially better than the other is because of war.”  
“So, we have to take their offer.”  
“No, we don’t. I’m letting you choose.”  
Ross stared up at Hazael, and Hazael noted how they were only parted by a few degrees of separation. “I know you want to go West, to your hometown. But we won’t find Millie there, at least not alive. We don’t have enough food or water to get there anyways. These people are offering us everything we need, and the alternatives are getting blown up by a bomb or starving. We have to take their offer.”  
Hazael sighed. “Damn, I didn’t realize I wanted to go there until you pointed it out.”  
“So you’ll take our offer?” Ross and Hazael jumped. Maddox had seemed to appear out of thin air.  
Hazael clasped Ross’s hand. “Yes, I think we will.”  
“Good. Your memories, please.” Maddox held out his hand.  
Ross stared at Maddox’s hand. “How are we supposed to give you our memories?” Just then, a piercing electrical shock shot through Ross’ brain, and her memories dissipated.  
Chapter 31 ig  
Ross woke up laying next to a woman with immaculate box braids, seemingly in the middle of a forest. “Where am I? Who is she?”  
A man came forward, with a trench coat that swished around his ankles. “I am Maddox. Welcome to the rest of your life. The woman next to you is named Hazael, and you used to know her.”  
“What do you mean, ‘used to know her’? Where is my sister? Where is Antony LeAndreson? Am I in prison? Am I in Hell?”  
“You will know where your sister and Antony LeAnderson are in three day’s time, if you decide to leave. Not many people decide to leave.”  
“Why don’t I know where Electa is?”  
“You sold your memories to me for food.”  
“I… Did?”  
“You did. You and Hazael, together.”  
“And I gave you access to my memories?”  
Maddox smiled, and his teeth were too white. “All of them, Rosa-Maria Sanchez-Beatus.”  
“What;s the ‘Beatus?’ Did I hyphenate my name?”  
“You’re married to Hazael.”  
“I--what?”  
“Don’t worry about it.” Maddox ushered a small child into their hut. “This is Ripley. He will show you around, assign roles.”  
“What will you do to Hazael?”  
“She’ll be safe.”  
Ripley took Ross’s hand, and with one fleeting glance at Hazael, Ross allowed herself to be led out of the room.  
Ross’s first impression of the place she had managed to find herself in was that it was dark. Thick, forest canopies shrouded the settlement from sunlight. Ross reached up to manually turn on the flashlight in her microchip, and gasped.  
“Where’s my microchip?”  
The child shrugged. “We don’t have microchips here.”  
“You took my microchip?!”  
Ripley rolled his eyes. “Of course not. You must have misplaced it or something in the six months that was erased.”  
“


End file.
